


A Change of Spark

by Copperace



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Biological Warfare, Bombs, Breeding, Canon-Typical Violence, Cruelty to Humans, Drugs Made Them Do It, Dubious Consent, Endangered Species, Extinction, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, Forced Pregnancy, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mech Preg, Megatron is senile, Multi, Oral Sex, Origin Story, Racism, Seeker Trines, Seekerlings - Freeform, Seekers, Sex Education, Starscream is Winglord, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, The Autobots are not saints, Theft of Consent, Threesome - M/M/M, Transformer Sparklings, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Trine Dynamics, War, War Crimes, War violence, also OCs because I needed more seekers, attempted abortion which fails and nobody is hurt don't worry, before the war, ending the war, seeker instincts, some OCs because Cybertron had a higher population before the war, split timeline, there will be cuteness I promise, war trophies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-01-23 21:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 188,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21327250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copperace/pseuds/Copperace
Summary: The last thing Skyfire remembers is crashing into an ice field during a savage storm following an argument with his beloved amica endura, Starscream; coming back online to the Ark, he's shocked to find that he has missed several million years of war which has decimated not only Cybertron itself, but its people as well. Cybertronians stand at the brink of extinction - yet for some reason, they just can't stop killing each other anyway. Realizing that everyone else still alive is an idiot and discovering that that the only other mech he knows with actual intelligence has miraculously survived, Skyfire hatches a very dubious, kind of dumb plan to knock some sense into him - as well as possibly make Cybertronian sentient life a little less doomed.Because Starscream isn't the sweet fellow scientist who Skyfire remembers anymore. Somehow, while his lights were out, Starscream rose to power - and Skyfire's praying like mad to Primus that the scientist-turned-Winglord-turned-Decepticon-Air Commander can save their future.Oh, and also Starscream trined while Skyfire was passed out - that's new.
Relationships: Skyfire/Starscream, Skywarp & Starscream & Thundercracker, Skywarp/Starscream/Thundercracker, Skywarp/Thundercracker
Comments: 178
Kudos: 218





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The following story is a rework of a fic that I wrote which had employed some head canons from some other writers, and which was never meant to be shared given that it was my version of a sequel which they had written which I was not too keen on (given how head over heels I was for the original that the sequel belonged to.) For some reason that I can't figure out I circled back to the basic plot idea of my original version of this fic for this story when I started thinking about writing a story which I intended to actually share with people. This story even has the same name as the original version, but it is very, very different.
> 
> Also, Megatron is an antagonist - apologies to everybody who likes Megastar (I love a good Megastar fic too and most of my favourite authors on this website write Megastar,) but he's a senile old butt in this one who needs to be taken down!
> 
> Additionally, my head canon for how trines work in this story is NOT the same as in my previous story, 'Souvenirs.' Also, while I do use some names which you'll recognize from that story, the characters themselves bearing the names are different. Starscream's family in that story was great - they're... different in this one.
> 
> Be warned: I write very long stories, so it might take a while for me to get this one done. Although, by a 'while' I don't mean years and years - just six to eight months, probably, and I already have twenty-four chapters written so probably not even that. I'm a fast writer, it just takes me some time to go back, edit, and make sure stuff's jiving.
> 
> I will probably also add more tags as time goes on, but please heed the tags which are there already. PLEASE note especially that this story contains scenes of WAR, including WAR CRIMES and some cruelty to humans by giant robot aliens.
> 
> Also, Cybertronian time:
> 
> A nanoklik is 1/8 of a second.  
A klik is 496 nanokliks/62 seconds.  
A breem is 8 kliks/8.27 minutes.  
A groon is 9 breems/1.24 hours.  
A joor is 6 groons/7.44 hours.  
A orn is 42 joors/13.02 days.  
A decaorn is 32 orns/1.14 years.  
A metacycle is 8 decaorn/9.22 years.  
A vorn is 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years.  
A decavorn is 10 vorns/830 years.  
A centravorn is 100 vorns/10 decavorns/8,300 years.

The bluest sky that Skyfire had ever seen painted the heavens in brilliance overhead. After several long metacycles’ transit in the absolute void of interstellar space, the colour was almost more foreign than the crystallized dihydrogen monoxide which alternately crunched, collapsed or held his weight under pede. The stuff was everywhere, brilliant under the warm golden light of the system’s yellow sun, caking the black basalt mountains in white, guilding the landscape in the prettiest of monotones. Blue, blue everywhere, and quiet, not a single Cybertronian soul for trillions upon trillions of hics, peaceful silence which whispered denial of the rising idiotic political conflicts back home. The frigid planet which Skyfire stood upon, sample kit in servo, knew nothing of functionism, nothing of the strife which it currently harboured them safe from - and never would it, either, protected from the conflicting ideas and lack of education which hurt flight frames like them by billions of hics. Here, in his current frozen reality, Cybertron was just a vague memory.

A sound completely contrary to the bliss of his thoughts came hissing from the far distance, rippling then roaring with explosive force, then shrieking loud enough to make his audials ache as his dearest companion carved overhead, ripping apart the sky like a hot knife. His contrails tore the pure overhead blue in two, the shrieking din which his thrusters made better than any music as he tore past at teasingly close range, buffeting Skyfire in icy jet wash. Before the cloud of kicked up snow could settle he was gone again, and Skyfire was left eagerly wondering from which direction his beloved companion would appear once more. His amica endura moved so swiftly that in a klik he could be fifty hics distant, well out of radar range let alone optical. Skyfire beamed at the mech’s contrail, snowflakes settling on his cheeks and patiently waited, laughing as predictably, the shrill screech of high performance thrusters returned from an entirely different direction.

“Hey, you gonna help?” called Skyfire, and he laughed as all he got was an ecstatic trill and another teasing flyby. Starscream’s wingtip nearly clipped him in the helm in a movement which could have caused severe injury to them both, but Skyfire knew well from vorns together that his little partner had exquisite motor control far exceeding his - and that Starscream was enormously unlikely to start being productive any time soon with them having only just arrived. Grinning, Skyfire accepted the inevitable and sat down, content to watch his partner sate his coding, his need to fly which somehow had not been slacked by soaring for orns upon orns between stars. Seekers were incredibly playful - while Skyfire enjoyed flying, cruising the heavens on his wings, Starscream loved it, and he had a constant, itching need to test his capabilities, his parameters. 

Thus, Skyfire was treated to the personal private air show which he never got tired of, watching his beautiful little friend play out dogfights with imaginary enemies. Starscream would blast up high like a rocket, then tumble back down like a leaf before abruptly spearing out of his careless vertical tumble. Occasionally, he would shoot at things on the ground, swooping at organic beasts and chasing them, harrying the poor things until they managed to escape him, or figured out that if they didn’t move, the little seeker would bore of them. He loved to barrel roll and weave, diving and spinning, rushing around the sky at full tilt until finally, _finally_ and often very suddenly tearing back up to Skyfire to rip over him, upside down at breakneck speed.

Skyfire checked his chrono, and waved an arm, deviating his dear little friend from his harassment of a deeply unimpressed hairy white beast. Starscream came charging up, blasting Skyfire with powdered snow, yet with a blind lunge, Skyfire had his arms full of warm, wriggling, still excitedly trilling seeker. Even after vorns he still had no idea what the trills meant, but he knew that it was a happy greeting sound, and his spark lightened as it turned over into the other incredibly cute sound which happy seekers made. He lowered his helm to kiss his partner’s as sharp claws clasped for purchase in his transformation seams and Starscream clung to him like a cybercat, purring cacophoniously, his magnificently expressive electromagnetic field radiating contentment. His even more expressive wings were fluttering, and Skyfire wondered, as he always did when his partner was being this adorable, how anyone could ever deem seekers as remotely dangerous.

“Skyfire, this planet is slagging amazing! I wish that we could stay here for a full vorn!” exclaimed Starscream, his wings somewhat calming their mad twitching as he stabilized himself, grappled firmly to Skyfire’s front, some of the excessive fluttering having apparently been for balance. He was such a marvellous thing - Skyfire really could never understand why anyone in their right processor could do anything but admire him, but grounders were infernal idiots. Skyfire hugged Starscream and felt the seeker’s small frame absolutely quiver from excitement. Abruptly his face was full of the much smaller mech’s as Starscream conspired to kiss him, proclaiming, “Sky, this is the best planet we’ve ever been to!”

“I can’t wait to explore it too,” Skyfire assured him, stroking one of the seeker’s highly sensitive wings, which pressed wontedly into his touch. It had taken him vorns to understand how tactile his fascinating friend was and he was still learning about it. Although technically related, shuttles and seekers didn’t have all that much in common - for one, Starscream was less than half his size and was small even for a seeker - for another, he was incredibly expressive, shuttle culture seeming agonizingly stagnant in comparison. Shuttles didn’t show affection in public; they certainly didn’t rest together except explicitly to procreate, while Skyfire frequently onlined with a lap full of Starscream, the dear mech having sneakily cuddled up with him while he had been vulnerable. After vorns of living and working together, Skyfire found it strange whenever he went home without his snuggly amica - the lack of physical contact with his kin was profound compared to his affectionate companion. 

Skyfire peered at the sky above Starscream’s helm as the seeker started grooming his shoulder with his claws. Used to the soothing (and only sometimes truly painful,) prickle, he judged the time of orn and noted that daylight was already failing them, the planet’s orns obviously far shorter than Cybertron’s. He kissed Starscream’s cheek and snorted as his amica swatted him off, apparently Pit-bent on removing non-existent dirt from under his shoulder plating. “Star, why don’t we go back to camp? We can start work in a few joors when it’s light again, I’m still tired from our flight in.” 

“Sure, I don’t feel like working anyway,” smirked Starscream, abruptly jumping free of him and alighting into the air again then hovering overhead, still in root mode. He put his servos on his hips and grinned down at Skyfire, “Chase me back?”

“I’ll never catch you,” smiled Skyfire ruefully.

“Not with that attitude,” declared Starscream primly. He transformed into his beautiful alt mode and flew a slow, teasing circle around Skyfire. “What if... if I gave you the right incentive? Nobody can hear me scream out here!”

This should have been a bizarre, socially incorrect statement - instead it had Skyfire’s servos twitching as agreeable tension flared between his legs. Starscream flew another lazy, mocking loop around him, then he squeaked excitedly as Skyfire attempted to snatch him out of the air then careened off towards their camp. Grinning, Skyfire transformed and took off after him, the seeker quickly beyond view despite his efforts. He found the little tease lurking in the cave which they had occupied, most of it stuffed with their offloaded testing equipment, and it didn’t take him long to coax him into his lap, but he did spend at least a joor in foreplay with his coy lover. 

Finally, they slumped together, panting hard, Skyfire craning his neck to admire the magnificent mech who had come to mean everything to him. Starscream was sleek perfection, a tricoloured, wickedly intelligent beauty whom Skyfire adored with every nuance of his spark. He looked utterly blissful sprawled on top of Skyfire, twitchy wings drooped, pretty dark face relaxed and expression sweet. Skyfire reached to pet him, mentally taken aback all over again over how lucky he was that Primus had put this completely wonderful mech in his flight path. They were meant to be together - so Skyfire gently pulled the seeker closer to his face and hugged him, Starscream purring sleepily in response then falling quiet in deepening recharge. 

“Star, my love,” whispered Skyfire. The seeker didn’t deign response except for a wing twitch - recharge was serious business for seekers, so Skyfire needed to move quickly. He caressed Starscream’s helm to stir him, beaming at him as his pretty crimson optics onlined, “Star, I can’t imagine life without you. You mean everything to me, Starscream, so I want to be more than just amica and partners with you -” he took a heavy in-vent to steel himself for the question which he had been preparing himself to ask for over three vorns. He smiled as Starscream frowned curiously, helm cocking in that inquisitive way which he loved, “- Professor Starscream of Iacon, will you please do me the tremendous honour of being my conjunx endura?”

Instead of the immediate logical ‘yes’ which he had been expecting, because he knew that his amica loved him, Starscream stared at him as if he had just spoken a foreign language. Granted, he _had_ \- partially - ‘conjunx endura’ were not glyphs in Vosian, which was the usual language which they spoke together (it was profoundly useful for conversing privately while in the presence of grounders, especially, plus it was a beautiful language - apart from its vast plethora of insults,) but Starscream spoke Neocybex just as fluently, so Skyfire knew that he had understood. Plus, Starscream was the most intelligent mech that he had ever met, and studying at, then working for the University of Iacon, they knew a lot of those.

“Conjunx endura?” echoed Starscream perplexedly. Skyfire frowned - he knew that his partner knew perfectly well exactly what a conjunx was. He had explained the term a decavorn previous, back when he had started verbally labelling the seeker as his amica endura, his best friend. Starscream had taken as eagerly to the term as he did to the sky, so Skyfire had no idea what was so puzzling about conjunxing.

“Mate,” elaborated Skyfire anyway, even though he thought doing so demeaned his amica’s intelligence.

Starscream still just stared at him in bizarre consternation, Skyfire’s spark sinking. He knew that Starscream knew what a mate was. Hadn’t they watched enough dumb romantic movies yet, seen fellow students and colleagues conjunx, brag about spark merging? Mind, Starscream didn’t particularly_ like_ the romances as much as Skyfire did - he preferred action drama films for his entertainment - but he loyally watched them anyway because he loved Skyfire (and because he appreciated any moment where Skyfire’s lap was vulnerable to his occupation.) He usually fell into recharge at least halfway through romances, but he had still seen them. Mostly.

The seeker’s wings abruptly drooped, and he looked away from Skyfire, his electromagnetic field flickering from blissful to something which Skyfire realized worryingly was resignment.

“I can’t, Sky.”

Skyfire’s spark nosedived into his fuel tank, “Starscream, why? We already live like conjunx! Literally the only thing we haven’t done is spark merge and declare it legally!”

Starscream grimaced, and to Skyfire’s horror, suddenly slipped off of him, then huddled in a guarded ball beside him, wings tucked close. The seeker addressed the snow lining the cave floor miserably, “My kin would never allow it. Seekers are not to mate with non-seekers; it would be refuted, I would be shamed, and you would be killed.”

“Star, they can’t just murder me, that’s slag and you know it,” protested Skyfire, reaching for the seeker, but his amica noticed his servo coming and scooted out of reach, then looked at Skyfire woundedly, as if he was suggesting something intensely detrimental instead of harmlessly wonderful. Skyfire tried again and the seeker skittered towards the mouth of the cave, red optics glinting in the gloom from outside where snow blew softly past. He bit his lip, “Star, you need a spark merge to stabilize your spark, right? What if -“

“I told you, Skyfire, it has to be other seekers!” cried Starscream, his little frame suddenly shaking with distress and making Skyfire feel terrible. “Please, can’t I just spend my last decavorn in peace?! Without this?”

It was partially the very reason that his seeker had an expiry date which made Skyfire want merge with him, “Star, I want you to live, maybe since I am not Seeker my spark would stabilize yours, my coding is different, it -"

“No! No, you hapless oaf, NO! I am not spark merging - that is what trines do, and I am never TRINING!” shrieked Starscream, and shocked, Skyfire tried to grab him to hug him, desperate to soothe him, but Starscream abruptly bolted outside. Skyfire scrambled to follow and had to shutter his optics against the savage blast of Starscream's freezing jet wash which hit him in the face, somehow powerful enough to almost push him backwards. Outside it was black, whirling with snow, and Skyfire only caught a glimpse of Starscream's thrusters before he was gone. Horrified, he leapt and transformed, immediately feeling the wind wrench at his wings, the torrent blowing much harder than appearances had suggested. Buckling down anyway, grateful that the decidedly very arctic chill was in fact much warmer than space, Skyfire flew in the direction which Starscream had gone. 

::Star, can we please talk about this? I'm sorry that I took you by surprise, I should have waited for a better moment!:: protested Skyfire over comm, praying that Starscream would answer. ::Please, Star, can't you at least explain why?::

Nothing but static answered him, and all he could see was the swirl of snow, the wind yanking relentlessly upon his frame. ::Star, it isn't safe to be out here. Look, we're already basically mates, and isn't it worth at least trying to see if my spark would stabilize yours? I love you so much, I want to spend my whole life with you! I want everyone to know that I am in love with you!::

He listened, waiting hopefully, but Starscream did not respond and he began to feel a flicker of fear, especially as the wind wrenched upon his wings. The storm seemed to be growing worse and if he was being given grief by it, then his puny partner was probably being tumbled about like a sparkling’s kite. Panicking on this thought, he finally remembered to check his HUD and would have flinched except for how the wind was tugging painfully upon his tail, his spark flashing unpleasantly at the sight of how fast his barometric gauge was plunging. 

::Star, where are you? I think this storm is getting too dangerous for us to be flying in so I am going to search for you another breem then turn around, okay? If you can't come to me or camp remember what Novaray said, fly straight up! You'll be safe in orbit!:: said Skyfire worriedly. This time, he thought that he heard a reply but it was extremely distorted. Skyfire felt a jag of relief, and pinged Starscream his position, ::I am here, headed back now, follow me, Star -:: 

At the exact moment that he banked, the wind chose to buffet him viciously, Skyfire almost feeling broadsided by the herculean thrust of cold air. He attempted to correct, found himself being nearly pushed upside down, again tried to move his flaps to correct himself again and distractedly noted his instruments going haywire. Attempting to fix it, especially worried about his profound lack of altitude data, he lost his concentration on staying aloft and suddenly felt himself falling. Disturbed, he calmly tried to pull up and he had a glimpse of ghostly solidity, then blinding agony wrenched through his right wing and suddenly he was horrifyingly enclosed by solid water, plating wrecked with fresh pain. No longer able to feel the wind, he pinged Starscream urgently, needing him to get to ground, to get _safe._

Numbness spread through his agonized frame from the ice enclosing him, and try as he did, desperate, he couldn't get himself free. He attempted to transform, to get an arm free so that he could pull himself loose, but the ice was so close that he couldn't even vent and he found that he had profoundly underestimated the cold. Worse, Starscream had not responded to his ping, and his instruments still weren't working. With every passing klik of petrifying darkness, Skyfire completely unable to see, the claustrophobic terror closed greater as he struggled desperately to reassure himself despite the increasing weakness which he could feel in his frame.

  
::Skyfire?! Skyfire, where are you?! Skyfire, this storm is crazy, please, come back to camp - Skyfire? _SKYFIRE!::_

  
The sound of his beloved amica's intensely worried voice was a whisper of grace in the terror of his new hell. He tried to comm Starscream back, to ping him again, but he found himself unable to initiate it, tired... so tired...

  
He fell asleep to the sound of his amica endura screaming his name.


	2. The Battle of Katla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the happy discovery that there was more content which I was okay with posting from an editing standpoint, so you guys get a couple more chapters of this. 
> 
> Also, make sure you heed the tags - this chapter contains interface! (And violence.)
> 
> Ahem... FOUR MILLION YEARS LATER...

Snow and loose rock crumbled under pede, the earth shifting under Starscream’s light weight as he reached the high point, wings held low behind him to keep them from alerting any pesky Autobots who might be watching. He stayed crouching, peering over the scree embankment at the sight below, ignoring the faint wisp of steam from a nearby fumerole. The air was clean and cold, yet bustling with air currents which would give his mecha the advantage. None of the Autobots could fly even half as well as his seekers could and his sensitive wings quivered, instinctively wanting to flare joyously against the wind, yet he didn’t dare - Starscream didn’t know yet how heavily guarded the Autobot’s energon cache below was. As insulting as it was that as a Decepticon he had been reduced to thievery and scavenging, it was what it was - Starscream attempted to feel some faith, however faint, that Megatron would give up on the _Nemesis_, would relent on his obsession with Optimus Prime.

They were stranded - the flagships of both armies had fallen in battle after crossing thousands of star systems over the course of well over forty-eight thousand centravorns of vicious war. While the Ark had crashed into a volcano much like the one which Starscream now perched upon (he wondered, vaguely, what the Autobot fondness was for mountains doomed to rip themselves apart in a cataclysmic instance,) the _Nemesis_ had ploughed into a disgusting as well as temperamental ocean of sodium saturated dihydrogen monoxide. To make matters even more revolting, the planet was populated by small, very stupid sentient organic aliens, whom the Autobots insisted on protecting from the Decepticons, convinced that the Decepticons wished their extinction, when from what Starscream had observed the awful little things were quite capable of arranging _that_ fully without Decepticon help.

Noting no movement below, he let his wings twitch out from behind him and trilled softly, allowing himself a purr as the other parts of his spark responded. Resonance flooded his spark chamber like soothing warm oil as the pair scrabbled up beside him, shifting as their combined weight made the scree collapse a little, yet for a klik not caring as they pressed their helms together as they affirmed a bond much stronger than of any mere conjunx endurae. One was the blue of a warm sea, black points with the faintest of white and red markings, his dominant frame the biggest and strongest, his temperament quiet. Two was mischievous black, silver and deep purple, smaller than Thundercracker yet bigger than Starscream by an accident of biology which Starscream had once been jealous of, but which none of them had thought of in many centravorns.

There were a lot of things which they hadn’t thought of in centravorns. Memories of a civilization which had been theirs had faded over the long vorns, leaving them in a hungry existence where nothing was convenient and where there was never any jet grade. They nuzzled each other hard, wings quivering excitedly, vents blowing hot against the cold air, plating flush, and then they froze, watching again, jammed together in a very un-Decepticon-like huddle as they watched a green shape move below.

Starscream scented and curled back his lips, baring his dentae - it appeared that the cache was guarded after all. With a growl and a chirp, he sent an excitedly quivering Skywarp to play with the Autobot guard, watching smugly for the black seeker’s attack while letting Thundercracker grip him in a hug with possessive affection which Starscream never usually let him show outside of their bolthole on the _Nemesis._ Skywarp vanished in a purple flash and they both perked up, wings lifting interestedly as there was an explosion just out of sight. They waited curiously, and an instance later they were rewarded as Skywarp teleported back, his beautiful sharp claws gripping the distinctive, ugly, energon streaked crystal of a grounder’s spark chamber.

Taking it, Starscream watched the Autobot’s still guttering orange spark expire, feeling grim pleasure that there was one less Functionist left alive in the universe to threaten them. Subspacing the crystal, he silently led the way to a fresh vantage closer to the gravel road from which he could observe the cache better. Outside of it, he could just see a couple of more grounders kicking up a ruckus - they were aware that _something_ had happened, but the glitches had no idea what it was yet. Starscream cased his gaze over the ridge above them and smirked as he distinctly saw the flicker of a wing - his seekers were in position. He could hear a fritzing of comm chatter, but it had nothing to do with his faction - all of his mecha present were Seeker, and seekers had a better way of communicating, if only amongst trines - the rest of it, the inter-trine coordination, came down to perfect planning.

_Warp, knock out their communication array,_ ordered Starscream, turning to his black mate who paused from distastefully licking grounder line energon off of his claws to cock his helm at him. With an eager chirp and a distinct vop accompanied by the telltale flash of violet light the exact hue of his spark, Skywarp was gone. A nanoklik later, the grounders were shouting as he reappeared above them and fired upon their poorly situated array. Just as they tried to shoot at him, Skywarp was gone, then attacking from a different angle, at which the grounders discovered belatedly that Skywarp wasn’t working alone. 

His attack on the array had been the signal to move, and Starscream smirked as he flew up towards the site, watching the coneheads swoop down on top of the feckless idiots whom the Autobots had appointed sentry at the cache. To Starscream’s enormous satisfaction, there was no sign of the terror twins, nor any snipers like Bluestreak, and the assault was accomplished within a bream with minimal fuss. They killed clean and fast, wiping out the small enemy force then conducting a swift but thorough search of the surrounding area to make certain that their foes had been exterminated. Pleased unduly, Starscream canted his approval to his mecha, and stalked inside the cache to smirk at the result of their hard work - enough energon to fuel the Decepticon Air Force for one of their current planet’s miserable stellar cycles.

There was absolutely no way in slag that they were sharing it with the grounders, even if it was low grade, because especially since it was low grade rather than jet grade, Starscream’s flight frames needed every hard won drop, because they needed to drink thrice the ration for the same amount of energy. The fuel was slag, but it was _fuel_ and Starscream would punt the aft of anyone he found attempting to steal it from his hungry mecha (especially if their designation was Swindle, Onslaught be damned.)

“Good job,” clicked Starscream to his mecha in Vosian, the language flowing smooth from his vocalizer as Neocybex never did. “Call in Astrotrain now - Ramjet, Thrust, stay on guard - Dirge, watch the road in case one of those glitches got a comm out before we slagged them.” 

“Got it!” chirped his mecha, taking off in various directions; unspoken were his command for his own trine to stay with him as he took off to escort Astrotrain. The chilly air felt fey against his wingtips as he flew, the close proximity of his trinemates warming away the ice which had brushed against his protoform as he had transformed. He sleeked his plating to protect himself and banked as he saw Astrotrain coming, the mech escorted by his fellow triple changer, Blitzwing.

“Commander, this would be far easier if Blast Off were here too,” complained Astrotrain as soon as they were close enough to speak.

“That grounder-fragger can starve with his gestaltmates,” huffed Starscream. “We will all carry some.”

“If you say,” grumbled Astrotrain.

“The commander’s right, Astro, Blast Off forgot his place when he bonded with those revolting grounders,” hissed Blitzwing. “We’ll do just fine without him.”

“Enough chatter, hurry up,” hissed Thundercracker and they swept in for a landing, Ramjet and Thrust chirping teasing greetings to the triple changers. 

“I’m not slow, okay? I’m half train for Primus’ sake!” retorted Astrotrain.

“I’m only slow because Astro is,” snickered Blitzwing, Astrotrain transforming briefly just to swat at him. Letting Thundercracker supervise the shuttle’s loading, Starscream took Ramjet and Thrust’s sentry positions, keenly watching his HUD radar as his seekers worked below. Thus far, the sky had been quiet enough that it seemed that they were getting off free on their raid, but Starscream was no fool. Wings twitching, sensors on high alert, he scanned their surroundings then stiffened as Dirge trilled a low note of danger. Rising onto his thrusters, Starscream peered in the indicated direction and hissed.

“Mecha, we have aerialbots incoming, we need to get airborne before they arrive in order to avoid Superion,” growled Starscream, as he dropped back to the ground where Astrotrain was being crammed full of energon crates. Glancing at the sky, he ran inside and grabbed some energon as well, hauling it to Astrotrain then handing it off to Blitzwing to place inside. Dirge came flitting back as their enemies drew closer, and Starscream bared his denta, realizing that they needed more time. Annoyingly, it appeared that the aerialbots had spotted them, and with a growl he flicked a wing, at which Hotlink’s trine abruptly tore up from the nearby ridge where they had lain hidden. The aerialbots whirled in surprise, and Starscream turned back to directing the theft of the cache as Thundercracker hastened to help. As promised, everyone present grabbed a bit for the subspace - if they wanted to keep their spoils, they would need Astrotrain to be fast.

“That’s all of it, Commander,” said Ramjet as they stepped back out. Above, Hotlink, Bitstream and Sunstorm were doing an outstanding job of harrying the aerialbots, but Silverbolt and Slingshot had slipped free, the pair tearing towards them.

“Alright, hurry up and takeoff, Astrotrain,” barked Starscream.

“Guard my tail, Blitz,” groaned Astrotrain, rising on his anti-gravs. Starscream trilled to his seekers and leapt skyward to meet Silverbolt, immediately opening fire. He could hear a fizz of the Autobot comms and he knew grimly that they would likely be getting more unwelcome company. Refusing to get frustrated, he went straight for Silverbolt, knowing that if he could only kill the gestalt’s leader, Superion would never form again. 

“Starscream! Glitch! You killed -” Silverbolt snarled some designations which Starscream paid absolutely no attention to.

“That’s nice,” hissed Starscream, catching the shiny shuttle hybrid’s wing and pushing his claws into the sensitive metal, causing Silverbolt to scream very pleasingly in agony. His own wings caught a flicker of movement, Air Raid swooping down on top of him but he didn’t release his claws, smirking as Air Raid cried out, attacked from behind by Skywarp. Silverbolt transformed and Starscream leapt away, ripping in the opposite direction of Astrotrain, screeching, “CATCH US IF YOU CAN, AUTOGLITCHES!”

“GET HIM!” shrieked Silverbolt, and Starscream cackled as the fraggers did exactly what he wanted them to do. He tore away, using his superior speed to out fly them then swearing as Silverbolt comprehended what was happening.

“Gah, that fragger is annoying!” snarled Starscream to his trinemates as Silverbolt urged his gestalt mates to chase the swiftly receding Astrotrain instead. “Attack! Attack! Get them to retreat!”

His seekers responded by redoubling their attack and the five Autobots, outnumbered by the Decepticons, were finally forced away after over a groon of fierce aerial combat, Starscream hissing in relief as none of his mecha were hurt. Scratches and scuffs were suffered, but his mecha escaped clean and Starscream knew smugly that all of the aerialbots would be spending time in their medical bay. Their enemy gone, their flight turned into a quiet cruise across the polar sea, high out of range of most human weaponry. Starscream enjoyed the sight of the changing landscapes below, tundra becoming mountains then endless forest before becoming a long expanse of alien civilization, then rolling green hills before finally lapsing into the deceptively calm looking tempest of the Atlantic Ocean. 

The _Nemesis’_ flight tower rose slowly out of the water at their tired approach, just its lights visible, and Starscream flew by it, cautiously surveying the platform before letting his mecha land. His own pedes touched down and he x-vented in relief, stretching his tired wings; it had been joors since they had left Mount Katla in Iceland, even more still since they had left the _Nemesis_ on their private operation. Starscream’s wings felt decidedly heavy as they rode the lift down to the flight deck, Astrotrain still in his alt mode. Lift doors welcomed them back to their home, and Starscream directed Astrotrain over to their own hidden energon cache. Megatron had a nasty habit of rationing to extremes ever since they had crashed on the planet, so Starscream made sure that his mecha didn’t starve. Although it was a well known fact that grounders could live on a lot less than a seeker could (the Functionist Council having paraded this knowledge everywhere in the vorns preceding the war,) Megatron could be amazingly obtuse about keeping Starscream’s air force properly fed.

Confident that the energon was being stored properly in their hallowed out bulkhead, Starscream let Skywarp distribute a cursedly rare reward of high grade to their mecha, then with their spoils put away, he allowed his mecha to lick their wounds. On the _Nemesis,_ there wasn’t much space for a flier to go, so Starscream watched blandly as his trines retreated to their various nests, which generally consisted of berth frames which had been welded sloppily together then piled high with whatever soft material the trines could find. Each mech had a locker to contain their weapons and possessions, while a ceiling painted to look like the sky on a good flying orn provided some spare relief for their sky hunger.

Grounders were not welcome there.

“Rest up, mecha,” ordered Starscream lowly as Thundercracker secured their spoils, locking then concealing it behind a panel against theft. While technically he had quarters outside of the flight deck and Thundercracker and Skywarp had a designated recharge area there, Starscream’s trine never actually rested there unless Skywarp was too injured to teleport. Letting his trine curl up on their berth to relax while they waited for him, Starscream logged a mission report and then gazed irritably at the Decepticon intelligence file on Silverbolt’s gestalt.

Menasor and Devastator had thus far failed to take Superion down permanently, and with Superion now backed up by Defensor thanks to the thankfully brief Autobot gain of the Enigma of Combination, the combiners were on annoyingly equal ground. Starscream chewed on a claw, going over ideas in his processor and rather wishing that he had done something quite a bit more lethal to Silverbolt when he had dug his claws into him. 

Hearing the opening of the main lift doors which accessed the rest of the Nemesis, he assumed their visitor was an errant flier, but Skywarp’s abrupt appearance by his side warned him otherwise. Flicking his wings, he saw with previously ignored sensors the approach of Soundwave, Ravage prowling by the telepath’s heel. All around the flight deck wings perked up as the Third in Command was detected and Starscream stood suspiciously, thoughts fixed firmly upon the problem of Superion - as far as anyone would know from his mission report, they had gone on a scouting mission only. Should Megatron find out about the fuel they had raided, he would force Starscream to share it with the rest of the army, and his flight frames would be on what amounted to half rations which Megatron called ‘fair’ even though they were grossly anything but.

“Soundwave,” growled Starscream in Kaonite as the telepath stopped in front of him, attempting to ignore the annoying mental singsong which Skywarp adopted every single time they were in close proximity to the mech. “What brings you to our humble domain?”

“Soundwave: requires aerial transportation for Ravage to place in northern hemisphere known as Greenland, where Buzzsaw has reported Autobot activity,” droned Soundwave. “Ravage: required because there are few organic aerials there. Ravage: will get closer to Autobots.”

“Yes, yes,” said Starscream, looking around the flight deck and smirking at the sight of his only surviving kinseeker, Slipstream, sprawled lazily on her berth between her trinemates. Twitching his wings decisively, he led Soundwave and Ravage over then trilled imperiously, Slipstream jerking awake as there were snickers. Trickshot and Ripwind were on their pedes instantly, but Slipstream glared at Starscream and refused to get up as all around the flight deck there were soft snickers. 

“Slipstream, Soundwave requires transport for Ravage; since your trine has been at rest, I have chosen you to assist him,” ordered Starscream loftily.

“Of course, Winglord, we must do our part,” murmured Ripwind in Vosian, nudging Slipstream.

Slipstream pinned her wings and growled in aggression, “It’s our orn off, cousin.”

“Slipstream, please, don’t do that, Rip and I are perfectly willing -” groaned Trickshot softly.

“Shut up! Do you lead this trine? I don’t think so!” hissed Slipstream.

Starscream shifted in delight - oh, the _fuel_ his stupid cousin gave him! “Slipstream, you can either fly dearest Ravage to Greenland, or you can spend the next orn in the brig; your choice.”

“Cousin -” Slipstream began to growl.

“That’s _Winglord,_” corrected Hotlink in an irritated bark. “Stop complaining and do as commanded, Slipstream, we’re all too tired while your trine is rested.”

Starscream was glad that to his knowledge, Soundwave couldn’t understand Vosian, but he heard Skywarp’s internal jingle rise in pitch. He flared his wings at his cousin, hissing, “Would you rather spend a _decaorn_ in the brig, Slipstream? Then you’d get all the rest you desire.”

The look she gave him was pure mutiny; thankfully, Starscream knew for a fact that she had no supporters in the ranks. Everyone who lived on the flight deck with the exception of her was loyal to him, even Slipstream’s own trine on Starscream’s side, and he smirked as he saw her wings twitch in submission, relenting, “As you wish, Winglord Starscream.”

“Thank you,” said Starscream smugly. “Go fuel up.” He switched back to Kaonite as her trine went obediently to the energon dispenser, smiling at Soundwave, “Slipstream and her trine will transport Ravage.”

The telepath nodded silently and Starscream pinged the mission data which the mech sent him to Slipstream. The host lingered until the trine was ready and given Slipstream’s temperament, Starscream could not blame him for standing around until he was sure that Ravage was secure in Slipstream’s cockpit. Satisfied that his casseticon would be fine, Soundwave left the flight deck and with Slipstream gone, quiet descended on the place. Starscream moved back to his console, wanting to fuss more over the subject of Superion, but Thundercracker was waiting for him there, and he shivered as his mate’s servos touched his waist then drew him against his warm frame. Skywarp joined the hug from behind, snuggling Starscream between them and Starscream felt how tired they were, how much they wanted to retreat to well earned sanctuary.

“Alright,” whispered Starscream in Vosian and he felt the brief discomfort of teleportation, then the cold, frequently damp floor of the flight deck was replaced by the forgiving softness of their nest. It was a pocket of space buried away in a part of the damaged hull of the warship and it was perhaps the only benefit of the _Nemesis_ having taken a dive into the sea. The place was secure from the ocean, leak free and safe, but even better than that the damage around their sanctuary had closed off all access from elsewhere. It was fully impossible for even Ravage to reach them and the only way in or out was via Skywarp. It was the perfect sanctuary for them to rest away from the faint danger of assassination, where they could be trine in peace. Skywarp had lined the floor with copious berth pads, blankets and pillows, creating the best nest that they had ever had, which Starscream knew that he would miss once they finally convinced Megatron to leave the _Nemesis. _

“Star, lay down,” purred Thundercracker, his servos moving lower as he ducked his helm to kiss him. Starscream shuddered happily at the amorous attention from his mate, knowing that Thundercracker was pleased with him for taking care of them and he sank to his knees, purring as he was stroked. Thundercracker chirped, urging him onto his back, the bedding cushioning his wings making the posture of submission more tolerable and Starscream exvented, letting his trine seduce him, Thundercracker’s helm pushing between his thighs with his glossa while Skywarp kissed his lips while rubbing sensuously at his closest wing. He felt his valve cover wanting to open at Thundercracker’s ministrations, wet heat building in his array and with a shudder he allowed it, his cover sliding open with a click to permit his mate’s glossa. 

Starscream kicked a pede at how good it felt and squirmed in complaint when Thundercracker stopped, but only so that he could ready his spike, Starscream gazing in admiration as the fine thing pressurized, bobbing weightily from his mate’s housing. Thundercracker drew his hips up, stroking his midriff, Starscream feeling him check his electromagnetic field for consent. Starscream hastened to spread his legs further invitingly and he was rewarded immediately with his trinemate sinking graciously into him. 

“How’s he feel, TC?” purred Skywarp, still in happy possession of Starscream’s wing, although something wet pressed against its tip now which wasn’t Skywarp’s mouth. Venting hard from the stretching of his empty valve, Starscream glanced over and saw Skywarp’s spike resting against his sensitive plating, its tip dribbling clear prefluid.  
Thundercracker drew Starscream’s hazed attention back to himself by hilting himself, making him squeak as the tip of his mate’s spike kissed the entrance of his gestation chamber. Thundercracker held there, wings lowered instinctively to hide Starscream’s submissive frame beneath his, the blue seeker purring contentedly, “Tight as ever, Warp.”

“It’s been a while,” sighed Skywarp dejectedly.

“You’ll get him after,” promised Thundercracker confidently, caressing Starscream’s cockpit as he writhed a little, valve clenching possessively around the spike which brushed so agreeably against all of his nodes. Thundercracker caught him in a kiss, purring, “Be still, Star, I’m going to start now.”

_ Frag_ it was good; right from the first pull Starscream had trouble being quiet, but that was fine given that nobody could hear them from where they were. He whimpered as Thundercracker thrust into him luxuriously, his pace slow to match their mood, making Starscream gaspily purr in ecstasy. Kissing him, Thundercracker sped up until he held, Starscream squeaking involuntarily as he felt the hot gush of his trine mate’s transfluid flood into his gestation tank, filling him with warmth which would linger for joors. Overload hit him like a brick to the helm an instance later and he shrieked as Thundercracker roared, their cries swallowed by the little room. They collapsed together gasping, and an impatient Skywarp jabbed Thundercracker in the side.

“C’mon, s’hot but move it, TC, s’my turn now,” huffed Skywarp imperiously. Thundercracker broke out laughing and gave Starscream another thrust just to annoy Skywarp, who flared his wings in outrage, hissing, “I said move! He’s mine now!”

“What if I’ve got more for him?” teased Thundercracker.

“No! Go self service or something!” barked Skywarp, now shoving at Thundercracker, who didn’t move, still teasing. Starscream just purred in contentment, happy to be fought over, although he uttered a small squeak of outrage when Thundercracker took his spike away, his valve suddenly distressingly empty. Skywarp solved that problem swiftly, triumphantly mounting then hugging him, scowling at Thundercracker, who was indeed lazily stroking his spike back to attention, “He’s mine now.”

“_You’re_ mine next,” smirked Thundercracker.

Skywarp’s wings perked, betraying his interest, then he hastily turned his full attention back to Starscream, kissing him adoringly, whispering, “You’re so pretty and smart, Star, you take such good care of us, I love you so much.”

Primus, the fragger knew how to make him preen. Starscream melted into his black mate’s nuzzles, purring as Skywarp detailed exactly what he loved about him, the way that he admired him when he flew, all the while thrusting slowly. Starscream spread his legs further to help him, and wrapped his arms around his neck, beyond happy, for an instance in the long, long war feeling completely at peace as his trinemate gently fragged him. In their bolthole it was as if the war didn’t exist at all - it was as if they were in some dark apartment of theirs, the imaginary windows covered by curtains to make their nest comfortingly private. Their enemies couldn’t reach them and there was nobody else to see them.

It was good, so good, and Skywarp soon had Starscream shivering in overload. His trinemate dabbed off his array for him as Thundercracker had taught him to, then he covered Starscream with a blanket and Starscream lifted his helm sleepily to watch as Skywarp pounced Thundercracker with a giggle. The pair tussled until Thundercracker succeeded in getting Skywarp how he wanted him and too sated to care much anymore, Starscream rested his helm down, curling beneath the blanket. He was stirred restfully, briefly awake by his trinemates joining him, their frames searing hot from their interface and he purred fitfully as they snuggled up on either side of him, concealing him lovingly with their wings in triumphant instinct which would never fade.

Blissed fields meshed, loving sparks close, they purred themselves to recharge.


	3. Thawing Into the Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an eternity of being a shuttle-shaped popsicle, Skyfire finally onlines in hell and discovers that everyone he loves is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated 'R' for a lot of Ratchet being Ratchet.

Cold. _Frag, it was cold._ Cold was purely the only thing that he could think about, icing through his lines, stiffening his joints, putting fire to his plating, his right wing absolutely _burning_. For ages and ages, for eons, cold was all that there was - cold and darkness unending. He flickered in and out, dreaming that Starscream was still calling for him, dreaming that he heard unfamiliar voices, someone gasping that he was alive as if they were surprised, that his spark still existed, somehow which was annoying because he already knew _that._ Cold, unable to move, unable to think, to understand, then -

Warmth. Settling slowly, slowly eating away the cold until for the first time in any memory that he recalled, there was light, blindingly white, shining right in his painfully sensitive optics, someone murmuring to someone else that he might be okay. The light blessedly went away and he thought that he saw a chevroned face, like a Praxian’s, but he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything and he couldn’t think past the light but he thought he heard sounds, voices, things his processor was too sluggish to process.

When he onlined again, his processor felt a different variety of dragging, and he recognized at last with some semblance of intelligence that there was indeed a tasteless round artificial light dangling from an awful orange ceiling directly above him. There was also several electronic sounds, as well as a beeping which might have been a spark monitor, which fell silent in his audials as there were distracting footsteps and he suddenly found himself looking vaguely upon the face of some grounder hovering above him.

A sob choked out of him; where was Starscream? He remembered something being wrong, something…

“…Primus, mech, I asked: _can you hear me?”_

Glyphs. Neocybex, not Vosian though - Skyfire didn’t want to hear Neocybex let alone speak it - it reminded him too much of the Functionists, none of whom spoke Vosian, condemning everything Seeker, everything with wings. Why would he want to speak to a _grounder?_

“Shuttle! Hey! Do you understand? Do you hear what I am saying?”

Where was Starscream? Why wasn’t his faithful little partner present and there if Skyfire was in the hospital, frantically harassing the medic about whether or not he was okay? He looked away from the medic but was too weak to turn his helm, seeing more medical equipment around the room, other medical berths and the most awful orange paint which he had ever seen. Immediately he knew that Starscream would scoff at it, and he knew that Starscream was repelled by the nasty colour, but why wasn’t he there anyway? His venting hitched as he tried to move a wing, tried to get some sense with it, and he cried out in pain, the medic snapping. “Primus damnit, hold still! I just fixed that!”

“F-fixed?” whispered Skyfire. He couldn’t seem to get his voice to project any louder.

“Hey, he talks!” exclaimed a new voice happily. “Listen to that, Ratchet, he is functioning.”

“Lucky for him,” grunted the first medic, who was decidedly grumpy. “Look, Shuttle, you snapped one of your wings clean off when you nosedived into that slagging ice fissure where you were stuck - frozen _solid,_ I might add. You were a literal ice cube. Lucky for you, Dogfight went patrolling up the way that you were a popsicle and happened to see the red on your tail. He thought it was weird, reported it, and we, your knights in shining armour, came forth to investigate. Congratulations - you’re not dead.”

The second, friendlier medic, came into view, beaming at Skyfire. “So what’s your designation? We don’t want to keep calling you ‘Shuttle!’”

Skyfire was still slowly processing what the first medic had said. “W-when… did I crash?”

The medics exchanged a look over his helm, the friendly one saying, “That’s something you gotta tell us. What’s your designation? For your file?”  
Skyfire shuttered his optics - frozen solid in a crevasse, why the slag hadn’t Starscream found him? What had happened to pull his amica away? He remembered his amica’s terrible frightened cries for him, being unable to respond, the pain, the cold…

“Mech, seriously, no recharging,” growled the first medic, the one with the Praxian chevron on his helm.

“How about we introduce ourselves first, then you can tell us your designation,” offered the second medic cheerfully. “I’m First Aid. I’m second toooo -” First Aid nodded pointedly to the first medic, who rolled his optics.

“Chief Medical Officer Ratchet,” grunted Ratchet. He jabbed Skyfire with a digit, “What’s your designation?”

“Professor Skyfire of Iacon,” answered Skyfire. Fearfully, he added, “P-please… did you find a second mech, anywhere? My partner was in the storm with me, he was also a flight frame.” He didn’t dare say that he was a seeker - the fools would have less reason to hunt for him then.

Another look was exchanged, First Aid sympathetically declaring, “I’m sorry, Professor Skyfire, but we only found you.”

“We’ll have Silverbolt do a scan over the area where we found you once he’s up to it,” said Ratchet, writing something down. “Now, before crashing your aft into the ice, what were you doing here on this planet?”

“W-we’re still on it?” frowned Skyfire. There had been nobody there but him and Starscream, and no word of any bigger expeditions planned.

“Well, yeah, how else would we have found you? Our humans said it looked like you’d been in there a slagging long time,” said Ratchet.

Skyfire didn’t answer, his spark whirling. A long time - how long was a long time?

“Skyfire…” began First Aid, “…don’t you know anything about the war?”

“What war?” asked Skyfire shakily.

Another look was exchanged and Ratchet ordered, “Go get Optimus, Aid,” his inferior hurrying off, leaving Skyfire quite alone with the older medic, who noted, “You’ve missed a _lot,_ Skyfire. The sentients here would probably call you a ‘time capsule.’”

“W-what’s that? Please, what’s this war?” asked Skyfire shakily, but he heard First Aid returning and he managed to crane his neck a minute amount to look past his cockpit, at the huge convoy who was approaching. He was quite tall, for his frame type, but he wasn’t nearly as big as Skyfire was. He was blue and red, and he had blue optics which almost seemed kind, but which shone above a battle mask which made Skyfire’s weak spark pulse faster. The convoy sat in a chair which he hadn’t seen which was beside him and gathered his servo in his, which was incredibly unwelcome from a grounder, but Skyfire lacked the strength to fight it.

“Hello, Professor Skyfire; I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, and I am afraid that you have missed some key points in our planet’s history.”

* * *

Had he ever - in his absence, the discord back on Cybertron had escalated as he and Starscream had predicted. The senate had fallen, slain by the rising terrorist Decepticons, a group which Skyfire had never heard of, and civil war had ripped their planet apart as mecha had fought over not just energon, but basic rights. Now, many of thousands of centravorns later, the fight had come to Earth - the ridiculous local name of the planet which he had been frozen on. Their arrival on the planet had been so violent that both factions’ flagships had crashed - but that was merely a hiccup. Within a vorn or so, the fight would surely be taken back to space, provided that the war did not end there on Earth, which was incredibly unlikely, according to a scoffing Ratchet. The war had been going on for so long that nobody even really remembered a time _without_ war - the orns of their youth, when mecha had led normal, non-violent lives were so antique that they were practically fairytales. 

Now, all anyone remembered was trying to end the threat of the annoyingly resilient Decepticons, led by an extremist tankformer known as Megatron of Tarn.

“But, don’t think about all that, you’ll get updated more in the coming orns as you heal, right now we want you to rest!” First Aid had chirruped and Skyfire had not had enough oomph left in him to protest. Besides, Ratchet had jacked up the amount of painkiller feeding into his arm and for a while all he had seen were weird colours, then darkness which was comforting rather than alarming. When he woke up, he was alone to contemplate the horrifying truth - if there was indeed a war, then his sweet, innocent amica endura never would have survived it. Worse, he probably had not even ever seen the war - the medics had given Starscream’s spark a decavorn at best before destabilization of it killed him. Seekers were odd, complicated creatures - they _needed_ to trine, and if they didn’t trine in a timely manner upon reaching adulthood (as Starscream had utterly refused to out of hatred for his natal culture,) they died. 

Skyfire had hoped that his spark could have helped, could have at least given his beloved more time, but that opportunity was far behind him now, so he grieved, knowing that Starscream was gone - that further, everyone they knew was gone too. His creators Bluenose and Hardwing were dead, his cousin Sunfire had surely died as well, not to mention their favourite coworkers at the University of Iacon - with how much time had passed, he would probably never even know exactly what had happened to them. With the stigma against seekers, he would especially never know about Starscream.

He mourned, and for a long while the Autobots gave him his peace.

But one orn, Ratchet scooted him off of the med berth - he was hardly ready to stand, but the scowling medic growled that he was going to be needing it, because a Decepticon fragger had attacked Silverbolt, who needed surgery. Skyfire wasn’t given time to ask who Silverbolt was - he turned around, and Silverbolt, _another shuttle,_ was there, grimacing in pain and clutching his arm. So were some other flight frames, standing worriedly around him, Skyfire gaping in shock as he suddenly felt somewhat less alone. He made his slow way from the berth, ceding it to his remarkable contemporary, and watched as Silverbolt laid down, his fellow flight frames murmuring reassurances to him as well as asking Ratchet for a prognosis.

“You lot, get out and show Skyfire to his quarters that were made up for him,” snapped Ratchet. “Make sure he lays down, I want him to fragging _rest.”_

“But Silverbolt -” complained one of the four.

“Will be _fine._ Go away!” snarled Ratchet. 

“I’ll be okay, mecha, listen to Ratchet,” groaned the suffering Silverbolt.

“Okay, well, we’ll be back later!” exclaimed another of the four, almost threateningly.

“Go on,” urged Silverbolt, and Skyfire was led out of the lab by the quartet of anxious flight frames, still quite taken aback by them.

“Can’t you move any faster?” one of them complained to him.

“Fireflight, he was just frozen solid,” snapped a second. “Give the mech some time to figure out how his pedes work again!”

“Whatever,” groaned Fireflight, and this was about as quality as the conversation got, all four of the flight frames completely forgetting to introduce themselves. Skyfire was pushed inside of an open door which had been marked with his designation on it, and he barely got to see that it said SCIENCE OFFICER on it before he was alone inside. Within, there was a thankfully large-enough-berth, a small side table with space for datapads, and a window which showed a view of… rock. There was literally nothing else, apart from a datapad which, when onlined, was titled _THE AUTOBOT MANIFESTO._

Dear Primus, did they expect him to fight in _their_ war?! He grimaced - he supposed that he would have to if he wanted to survive and pull his weight in his apparent new home, but he hardly even knew still who they were fighting. He sat on his berth, found it depressingly hard, and laid down anyway, thinking that the war still seemed like just a tall tale, although Silverbolt’s wound seemed like proof enough that it was real, and he had been told about it by a Prime, who were supposedly honest, although he had never had reason to trust a Prime before. He remembered Sentinel Prime and what he had done, but this Prime, his successor was a different mech, so maybe…

* * *

He onlined sharply to darkness, and someone with glowing - _what the frag were those?_ \- on the sides of his helm sitting beside him on his berth.

“Hey, sorry for startling you, and being in your room,” said the mech, a grounder with a battle mask much like the Prime’s apologetically. His helm fin things flashed different colours when he talked. Weird. Okay. “I’m Wheeljack, I’m a science officer here on the _Ark,_ so Optimus Prime thought that I should show you around, since we’ve got stuff in common, and also Percy - that’s Perceptor - is busy on a mission at the moment.” The mech’s helm fins flashed blue, “I’m hoping that we can be friends, since we’ll be working together on stuff.”

“I haven’t agreed to join your war,” noted Skyfire, a little more grumpily than he intended.

“You don’t have much choice; it’s either us or starvation, there’s no other way to get energon than being with an army, and trust me, you don’t want to be a Decepticon, their flight frames spend a lot of time starving while we make sure ours are fed properly,” said Wheeljack. He grinned, “Besides, as a science officer, you don’t have to fight! You can stay back at base, and we still study non-war stuff, just… well, we are in a _war_, so yeah, there’s science involved in that. And fixing the _Ark_ \- that’s our ship. Also we’re nice and I heard the last Cybertron you knew was pretty bad to flight frames, but mech, that was a_ long_ time ago, and congrats, Skyfire, but flight frames like you? You’re really valued now!”

“I am?” asked Skyfire, not fully believing him.

“Yep, worth the extra fuel, they used to say back before they stopped saying Functionist slag like that,” said Wheeljack awkwardly. “Come on, wanna see the lab? It’ll be your favourite place, I bet!” 

Skyfire didn’t see how he had much of a choice, but the fact that he wasn’t feeling very good made him very reluctant. Thankfully, Wheeljack was patient, and even made an attempt at helping him sit up, handing him a cube of energon to revive him which he nearly spat out, coughing, “What is this slag?”

“Energon?” said Wheeljack confusedly, helm fins flashing yellow now.

“It tastes like -” Skyfire struggled to think up something to compare it to. “Well, it’s not jet grade! I’m a shuttle, I need jet grade -”

“Mech, there is no jet grade, medium grade, slag like that - just plain ol’ energon and high grade which technically we’re not supposed to have, but you’d be surprised at how many mecha claim that they can’t live without it, so we get rationed some every decaorn - you’ll probably get a decent amount, being a flight frame and huge like you are,” said Wheeljack. “Ratchet has control over it though, so if he thinks you’re not to have any he can veto it. So can Prowl - drives Sunstreaker and Sideswipe nuts, so there’s still a market for it.”

“I don’t know any of those mecha except Ratchet,” complained Skyfire, forcing himself to drink the energon. “How am I supposed to survive on this slag?”

“I believe the idea is that you just drink more of it,” shrugged Wheeljack. “That’s another thing you’ll get a much bigger ornly ration of. You should see what Sky Lynx puts back - we have to pour it into a big bowl for him!”

“What’s Sky Lynx?” asked Skyfire, feeling rather lost.

“He’s… well, he’s sort of a shuttle, but not really? I’m not entirely sure, but he’s huge. How’d that go down?” asked Wheeljack curiously.

“Tastes like slag,” grumbled Skyfire.

“Well, it _does_ have medicine in it, it came from the medical bay,” said Wheeljack. “I think Ratchet said that you’re on like three different kinds of painkiller? And some medicine for healing your processor and spark? You sustained some damage, mech, it’s gonna be a while before Ratch clears you for flight or any kinda duty. That wing looks _painful.”_

Skyfire grimaced, twitching the aforementioned appendage further away from Wheeljack protectively, “What do you know about wings?”

“Buddy, no need to get defensive about your wings, like I said, the world you came from where mecha were mean to you ‘cus you could fly is _dead._ Most of those slagheaps died with it - now, come on, and remember - mecha here respect your wings; flying is cool. We know wings are limbs,” said Wheeljack patiently, going to the door. Skyfire shakily stood and tottered after him, the grounder informing him, “Mecha here are nice, so you’re gonna be alright and I bet before long you’ll feel like you belong with us.”

Skyfire couldn’t see how he could ever feel belonging in an _army_ of all things and on a fragging _warship,_ but he reluctantly followed Wheeljack into the hallway, which he noted (now that he was more awake,) was at least tall enough for him. He grimaced, remembering how sometimes he had had to send Starscream into places to retrieve things for him because he couldn’t fit, then had to worry about the little seeker getting into trouble. At least seekers were feisty though - Starscream could defend himself rather ably with his claws, and his null rays - but he was still _so_ small compared to Skyfire that Skyfire had worried. Many times after worrying about him he had scooped up the seeker and carried him; Starscream, forever craving contact, thankfully hadn’t minded, snuggling into him with a purr instead (so long as nobody else was present to see.)

Painfully, he forced his mind away from thoughts of his adorable beloved, “These ceilings are nice and high, is it like this everywhere?”

“No, not everywhere, but on most decks it is,” said Wheeljack. “We needed it tall enough for combiners to move about, so -”

“What’s a combiner?” interrupted Skyfire, wondering why the frag everything around him was _orange._ He had surmised at first that that had been a bizarre quirk of the medbay.

“A combiner? Oh - oh yeah, I guess those didn’t exist back then - well, you met Silverbolt yesterorn, right? And his posse?” asked Wheeljack.

“I’m not sure that counts as an introduction, nobody said hi,” said Skyfire dryly.

“Well, Silverbolt’s the leader, but those five mecha can combine together into one huge mech - who _can’t fly_ by the way - called Superion,” said Wheeljack. “Superion and Defensor are two of our greatest weapons against the Deceptions, who have their own combiners, of course - onworld right now they have Menasor and Devastator. We’re hoping they don’t call in more, Superion and Defensor are really all we got at the moment - we’re gonna make sure you have a proper intro to everyone, don’t worry!”

_Except the Decepticons,_ Skyfire privately thought. “Why’s it orange?”

Wheeljack gaped at him and looked around, choicely answering a klik later, “I don’t know. I never really thought about that.”

This was a stupid answer in Skyfire’s opinion, but he laid that aside under the category of ‘things he didn’t want to think about because they reminded him of Starscream, who was dead.’ He didn’t have time to tear up over it as a klik later someone shouted eagerly, and suddenly a Praxian was running up, exclaiming, “Wheeljack, is this him? Is this the ice mech?”

“Yeah, this is Skyfire, he was a professor for the University of Iacon back in the orn,” said Wheeljack.

“Hey, Skyfire! I’m Bluestreak!” exclaimed Bluestreak. “It’s really great to meet you, welcome to the_ Ark!_ I hope you like it here!”

“It’s extremely orange,” noted Skyfire distastefully.

“I know, right? I wish I had money, then I’d repaint my room - hey, where’re you taking him, Wheeljack? Can I come?” asked Bluestreak eagerly. “I wanna get to know our new mech!”

“The lab, to start, Ratchet says he doesn’t have much energy yet, Blue,” said Wheeljack. “You can help me show him around between here and there if you want.”

“Awesome,” grinned Bluestreak, Skyfire noting that neither of them asked him. It didn’t seem like he really had a choice - he supposed that that was an element of being in the fragging army.

“So, uh, what kind of army is this exactly? Is it national, orrr -” began Skyfire, figuring that he needed to know.

“Oh, citystates? Those don’t exist anymore. There’s just Autobots, ‘cons, and neutrals,” said Bluestreak informatively. “I mean, like everyone’s still proud of where they’re from - I am from Praxus, obviously - but the citystates - they’re just _gone._ Destroyed: every last one of them, even Iacon - and we fought really hard to save them, but, well - Wheeljack, didn’t Optimus tell him?”

“Yes, Cybertron was razed,” scowled Skyfire, thinking all parties involved with that particular happening excruciatingly stupid. “There’s no energon left, so everyone fought and eventually abandoned our home planet.”

“Um, yeah,” agreed Bluestreak, scratching the back of his helm awkwardly. “I… I guess this is really weird for you.”

“Frankly, I think you are all slagheaps for doing what you did to our planet,” said Skyfire bluntly.

Bluestreak and Wheeljack both reared back slightly, Wheeljack finally deciding, “That is fair.”

“But the ‘cons are worse!” insisted Bluestreak. “If they hadn’t killed the senate, this slag never would have happened!”

“And if someone had not reacted however they reacted which led to this, we wouldn’t be here,” retorted Skyfire. “Obviously bad decisions were made on both sides. You cannot expect me to choose the side of your faction without knowing the argument of your enemies. Your recount of history will be bias; seeing as Sentinel Prime had a servo in the suffering caused by functionism, I’m not going to take your new Prime’s glyphs as holy. Forgive me - you seem nice, and I’m grateful to not be dead or frozen anymore, but I am a scientist, and I’m not going to agree with your cause until I have seen unbiased data on all opinions.”

Bluestreak gaped at him in shock, but Wheeljack, to his disbelief, clapped, deciding, “You know, Skyfire? You might be just what we need - but, I gotta caution you - _no mech_ left alive this orn has an unbiased opinion - ‘cept you. So, how abouts you decide who to side with based on who treats their mecha, better, hey? Like I said, flight frames in the Decepticon army are a hungry lot - ours? Well, I ain’t never hear Sky Lynx complain about his massive slagging energon bowl being empty for more’n a breem when it’s supposed to be full.”

“That could be a fair point,” conceded Skyfire, “but Wheeljack, I haven’t gotten to speak with a Decepticon about that yet, nor have I experienced the full spectrum of Autobot ‘care for flight frames’ yet, so forgive me for not agreeing with you on that point yet.”

“That’s fair, again, but you’ll be hard pressed to find a Decepticon willing to have a spark-to-spark with you, buddy,” noted Wheeljack.

“Yeah, more they’ll have a bolt-to-spark using their artillery,” piped in Bluestreak crassly. Skyfire wanted to roll his optics, but he decided to change the subject, chiefly because he was tired, so he wanted to get the lab visit over with so that he could go back to berth.

“So what is the status of this ship?” asked Skyfire as they stepped into the lift.

“Our engines are out and we got no spacebridge or smaller ships so we currently can’t get any parts for fixing the _Ark,_” said Wheeljack. “Long range communications are also currently down, and there’s a few other problems inhibiting us - the sum of it is that it’s gonna be a while before we can leave Earth. Probably going to see our current humans die of old age before that happens - poor things don’t live very long, their life span’s at best a vorn or so. Fortunately, the Decepticon flagship _Nemesis_ is damaged too, so at least we’re not in imminent danger of aerial bombardment from it and at least unlike them we crashed into land instead of the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.”

“Kinda feel sorry for them sometimes,” snickered Bluestreak. “Probly spend all their free time picking organic slag out of their transformation seams!”

This didn’t sound especially pleasant, so Skyfire conceded that at least he’d been found by the army which wasn’t underwater. They reached the lab, which was depressingly unremarkable and which was missing a few key components which Skyfire would have preferred seeing present despite Wheeljack’s obvious pride in it. There was a bizarre amount of what looked like soot on the ceiling and to his disgruntlement there were random parts absolutely everywhere, with no apparent sense of order.

“Isn’t it great? I mean, it’s probably not on par with whatever you had back at the university, but -” said Wheeljack.

“The University was fond of giving my partner and I substandard lab equipment because of our frame types,” grumbled Skyfire. “Our boss Tensor used to smirk at us as he stamped ‘DENIED’ on all of our equipment requests.”

“Oh, wow,” said Wheeljack disgustedly. “What a glitch - um, if it’s any comfort to you -”

“Yes, I’ve surmised - he’s probably dead,” said Skyfire dryly. “Along with all of the mecha whom I cared about, like my creators.” _Like Starscream._

“I’m sorry, Skyfire,” said Bluestreak earnestly, grimacing, “we’ve all lost mecha in this war; you won’t meet anyone who hasn’t. I don’t think there’s anyone left who actually has surviving kin anymore, and -”

“That’s your corner,” interrupted Wheeljack, as if Skyfire had never spoken up. He pointed out where his and Perceptor’s parts of the lab were (Wheeljack’s suspiciously had significantly more incendiary damage than the absent Perceptor’s.) Skyfire sat down experimentally in the large chair which was already waiting for him and felt relief at no longer being on his pedes. The lab was small and cluttered, but it wasn’t too bad, and at least there was a nitrogen chest for storing samples.

“So what did you study as a professor, Skyfire?” asked Bluestreak excitedly.

It distressed Skyfire faintly that nobody here was calling him by his earned title. “Xenobiology, although we also majored in geology, particularly how to tell when a planet might have energon deposits. That’s the only way that my partner and I were able to get our expeditions funded - although it helped too that the dean really liked us. He was always on our side and we used to think that he was the only reason that we even got in as students. He was a really good mech.”

“Well, your talent for finding energon will _definitely_ come in handy, right Wheeljack?” grinned Bluestreak and they continued on that mien for a while, until they finally noticed that he was exhausted. He gladly returned to his berth, Wheeljack promising to make sure he got to meet a human, the resident sentient organics, soon. This cheered him up, and he fell into recharge thinking that at the very least he’d have something interesting to study, something to distract him from the horrors which had been done to their world, to his loved ones now gone. There were so many mecha whom he would never meet again - yet part of him didn’t believe that they were gone. Part of him thought that he had simply onlined in some awful dream.

Part of him refused to think that Starscream, his beloved, was gone forever. 


	4. The Greenland Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn something extremely important about Starscream, we discover more about how he safeguards his seekers, and what life is like on the crashed Decepticon flagship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost posted chapter 4 before this one, oops - THAT would have been confusing! But, as a bonus, now you get TWO chapters today! Yay!

Entombed beneath the Atlantic, the _Nemesis_ was quiet at what passed for the planet’s night - as polluted and obscenely bright as Cybertron’s had ever been. Starscream kept his servos behind his back as he strode onto the flight deck, Thundercracker and Skywarp flanking him as he paused to look upon the askew piles of his trines. Beautiful, deadly, yet only a whispering remnant of a storied past, at least he still possessed a significant population of his mecha. Each trine cuddled in a similar way - the one member with still somehow precious carrier coding was snuggled in the middle, protected by the pair who were meant to spark him or her with new life. It was beautiful, in a way - a breath of an innocent, very forgotten past, when seekerlings had still been a thing, when a trine was considered true only once it had created new life, thus securing its genetic future.

Starscream had never created with his trine, and he never would.

“Hotlink,” trilled Starscream in Vosian, sweeping his wings high as the purple seeker looked tiredly around at them. Bitstream was still passed out cold (probably exhausted from doing whatever slag he had been messing with earlier that orn when he had been supposed to be on monitor duty,) and there was just a distasteful patch of golden yellow plating visible gleaming between them. Sunstorm didn’t look to be awake, but he would be soon if Starscream was not careful.

Hotlink made an unhappy face, wings shifting imploringly as he spoke Vosian in kind, “Sir, must we? I know, maybe it isn’t really safe, but I was really hoping -”

Thundercracker’s spark sigma came online threateningly, and Starscream shook his helm, “I’m sorry, Hotlink, but it’s time that Sunstorm had his surgery again. Until we have Vos back, until we get this slagging wreck off the bottom of this nasty salt puddle, there can be no litters.”

Hotlink huffed, “That’s what you always say. You always have an excuse - don’t you get it, Winglord? Our numbers are falling, we need numbers -”

Thundercracker and Skywarp shifting into attack stances made Hotlink recoil, especially as the peculiar audial stinging ring of Thundercracker’s spark gift sang louder. 

Starscream didn’t move. He knew that his trinemates could take out Hotlink in a literal flash if needed, but that wasn’t how he flew - that was only if absolutely needed. “And what would Buckethelm do if Sunstorm can’t fly? He’d kill him, along with your helpless litter; Sunstorm is too valuable a resource. Buckethelm would never allow it.”

Hotlink slumped unhappily, “Fine - _fine_ \- but you do still promise, that some orn…?”

“Some orn you can frag Sunstorm stupid and have as many litters as you slagging please,” promised Starscream resignedly. He had no idea why his mecha were so obsessed with creating - seekerlings, in his distant, very long ago experience, were deeply annoying little things.

“We already frag Sunstorm stupid,” smiled Hotlink wistfully.

“Which is exactly why he keeps needing this slagging surgery,” supplied Starscream, as he had many times before, drawing the sedative needle out of his subspace, arming it, and handing it to Skywarp.

“Because all you do in your spare time is frag.”

“Isn’t that what all seekers do?” asked Hotlink, still smiling.

“Dunno, I’m too busy to get laid,” shrugged Starscream as Skywarp dematerialized from his side and Thundercracker got his sigma in check. “Gotta keep all of you fraggers fed.”

“Fuel is appreciated, Winglord,” sighed Hotlink, looking fondly at Sunstorm and Bitstream as Skywarp reappeared by Sunstorm’s pede, then jabbed him in the leg. Sunstorm almost jerked awake, Bitstream growling dozily, but Hotlink stroked Sunstorm, soothing him back into rest. Hotlink got up and helpfully dragged a half offline Bitstream away, leaving Sunstorm exposed to Starscream, who knelt beside the irritating yellow seeker. Thundercracker helped him lay Sunstorm out, and acting as his assistants, his trine took care of Sunstorm, keeping him in recharge as well as doped up on painkiller while Starscream did what he had to.

Closing Sunstorm back up with as much care as could be mustered - everything could depend on any one of his seekers’ ability to fight - Starscream smoothed healing nanite gel over the weld. Thundercracker wrapped a blanket around Sunstorm, then they gave him back to Hotlink and Bitstream, who had sleepily watched the whole thing, used to it, trusting them to make sure that their carrier-mate was safe. Certain that Sunstorm would be well, Starscream gave Hotlink several additional cubes of energon for feeding his trinemate when he awoke, then he left the trine in peace, Skywarp returning him and Thundercracker to their bolthole. He sat on the edge of their nest and softly traced the faint, thin weld line which ran down the centre of his own middle from the bottom of his cockpit to the top of his interface array, shifting with a grimace as his trinemates traced it with their digits gently too - very soon, he’d be needing the same surgery as Sunstorm, only he’d be performing it on himself.

Like always.

“Let’s recharge,” murmured Thundercracker and he was dragged insufferably between them, into his place as the carrier of his trine’s future young who would never exist, even if the war ended.

* * *

“Currently, as we all know, the Autobots hold strong through their insufferable alliances with the grotesque organics and through their combiners,” growled Starscream to the war meeting. “Defensor may be less of a fight than Superion, but they remain a formidable opponent in the way of our victory nonetheless - Superion themself, even more so.” He stalked from one end of the long rectangular tabletop to the other, wings flicking in irritation as all optics watched him; he had the floor, and he loved it, but he needed to keep their attention, particularly Megatron’s, who sat glowering at the other end of the table from upon his undeserved throne. Skywarp and Thundercracker sat at the opposite end, flanking Starscream’s empty, irritatingly humble chair, but as entrancing as he knew that his frame was for his trine, their optics were fixed on the other mecha taking up the room, particularly Megatron, ready to defend him if needed.

“It’s long past due that Superion was killed,” hissed Starscream, giving Scrapper and Onslaught filthy looks, “and thus far, Menasor and Devastator have failed to give us Superion’s corpse on a platter. Weaken Superion, and we additionally weaken the Autobot Air Force, giving us the advantage - contrary to Superion’s designation, we are superior.”

He smirked at the rumble of agreement, and shifted his wings appealingly as he met Megatron’s glaring gaze, “In order to kill Superion, we need a combiner of more… _renown_ \- we need _Predaking.”_

“We don’t know where Predaking _is_, Air Commander,” growled Vortex.

“That is untrue!” snapped Starscream, flaring his wings at the annoying rotor, tips quivering. “Predaking, or rather, Razorclaw, Tantrum, Divebomb, Rampage and Headstrong are now on Cybertron. Acidstorm has told me this, and he is in contact as we speak with Razorclaw - we _can_ bring them here, we simply need enough energon to run the spacebridge. To that, I propose that we raid the new Autobot stockpile which Soundwave has confirmed that the glitches have hidden north of the city of Vancouver at Mount Meager - the_ significant_ Vancouver, not the speck bearing the same designation in America. We steal _that_ energon, we will be endowed with plentiful fuel for a decaorn and we’ll be able to run the spacebridge. Of course, the humans and Autobots will have some expectation of attack on that site, which is why we will distract them with a little… ‘natural’ disaster.”

He smirked, “Lately I’m afraid that that particular part of North America has been suffering from a lot of fires. It seems the humans have been quite naughty, and have forgotten to let their forests _burn, sparkling, burn._ Start a big enough inferno, and the Autoglitches will rush to help - especially if the blaze threatens a major settlement like, say, Vancouver itself, or Kelowna, or Calgary. Right now in that area, it’s the perfect time of year for such a disaster - so why not take advantage of the humans’ own incredible stupidity and greed? Let them scream_ ‘help us, Autobots, we can’t control it!’_ while we stuff our coffers with the glitchs’ fuel.”

“Soundwave: approves of this plan,” voiced Soundwave in the thinking silence that followed. “Taking advantage and using humans as a distraction: apt.”

“Thank you, Soundwave,” purred Starscream, flicking his wings smugly in respect, knowing that with Soundwave’s approval, Megatron was almost certain to give his own.

“Very well,” announced Megatron, “you may proceed, Starscream.”

Starscream carefully composed his wings, feigning greater respect than he thought Megatron was owed, smirking, “I will have the detailed attack plan ready for our next meeting, my _Lord.”_

“Very good,” said Megatron and sneering heftily the instance that the brute could no longer see his face, Starscream returned to his trine, who pulsed their relief at him that Megatron hadn’t tried to use his helm as a fusion canon target again. He schooled his expression and smugly took his place between them, clasping his servos artfully on top of the table while beneath it, Skywarp rested a hand on his knee, Thundercracker gripping his other. They did not do it out of affection or support - it was purely trine self preservation - if they were in contact, than Skywarp could teleport them to safety in an instance.

“Soundwave, I believe you said that Ravage has a report from the planet’s northern pole?” asked Megatron, moving on to the next matter of business after having stared at Starscream’s aft and wings his entire jaunt back to his chair.  
  
“Indeed: Ravage, eject and report,” ordered Soundwave, at which the feline framed casseticon leapt from the confines of his chest into the centre of the table.

“Greetings, superiors,” said Ravage, bowing on his fours, ever-lashing tail sweeping high as he made a leg. The casseticon bared his sharp teeth, “I was called into action by my master, Soundwave, when my contemporary, Buzzsaw, detected Autobot activity in the northern human nation of Greenland. I was transported and escorted north by Slipstream and her trine on orders of Air Commander Starscream, where I was deployed as indicated by Buzzsaw, who then returned to base along with Slipstream’s trine. I set forth alone, and managed to retain cover as I discovered the site which Buzzsaw had mentioned.”

Ravage deigned to sit upon his haunches, “Buzzsaw had been unable to get close enough to investigate the subject of the Autobot’s interest, but I was able to investigate properly. I was immediately surprised by the presences of both Chief Medical Officer Ratchet and his inferior, First Aid - the Aerialbots were also there, notably, as was surprisingly Optimus Prime. Additionally, Perceptor, Hoist, Jazz, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Blades, Trailbreaker, Hound and Ironhide were also present. No humans were present and the site was far from any settlement.”

“That sounds like a gathering of note; why were we not more expediently informed of its importance?” demanded Megatron.

“Because I found it to not be of note at all. The Autobots, it seems, had but found a Cybertronian corpse frozen in the ice,” said Ravage. “It was a gathering merely of curiosity.”

_ In the ice._ Starscream looked up from his battle plan and stared at the casseticon, who elaborated, “It seems that at some point, probably long before our war, a shuttle had crashed on this world. The Autobots removed the cadaver from the ice, and transported it via the Autobot Sky Lynx. I departed the scene once they were gone, and was retrieved by Hotlink’s trine. The corpse under discussion had Iaconian markings and was missing a wing, which the Autobots retrieved for its funeral.”

Starscream’s spark shrank and he felt pulses of reassurance come from his trinemates’ as they reacted to his pain, both glancing at him in veiled concern. He studied his datapad, pretending not to see them, and pretending not to feel.

“Soundwave: agrees with Ravage that the discovery of a corpse is of no importance to Decepticons,” declared Soundwave. “Autobots: will likely scavenge corpse for parts. Conclusion: not our problem. Query instead: improvements to mess hall…”

He could barely sit still through the menial dregs of the boring meeting and he escaped as swiftly as he could without being remarked upon, sweeping out of the room. Starscream barely made it three steps outside of it before abruptly he was standing in the comforting silence of his trine’s bolt hole. Starscream’s knees buckled, and with nobody there to see him but his trine, safe from all danger, including telepathic hosts, their sanctuary located far from anywhere that Soundwave frequented, Starscream grieved as if the news of Skyfire’s demise was new again. Of course, really, it was - after all, Skyfire had vanished without a trace into the storm which had killed him and Starscream had never been allowed to mourn him.

“Star, Star, hey, it’s alright,” soothed Skywarp, drawing him close and hugging him. “I know it’s insulting that they found him and you didn’t.”

“I thought maybe he’d just be a rust smear by now!” blubbered Starscream. “I never imagined he still existed!”

“He doesn’t, Star, you heard what Ravage said - he’s a corpse, his spark’s gone, so it’s not him,” said Thundercracker, rubbing his wings and kissing the back of his neck.

“Why’d the _Autobots_ have to find him?” whined Starscream. “Why couldn’t have I? M-maybe back then he would’ve had a chance -”

“Star, it’s not your fault that he couldn’t prove his wings,” said Thundercracker. “Primus judged him unworthy as a flight frame when it really mattered, and He took him back to the Well. Come on, Star, the shuttle’s been dead for literally thousands of centravorns - try to think of it this way - maybe Primus is helping us out by having the Autobots deal with his frame so that it won’t give you away. And, besides, we wouldn’t have met if he hadn’t passed away - I’m sorry, Star, but that’s exactly how it is, you know it is. If he had lived, Warp and I would’ve died - and so would’ve you.”

“TC’s right, Star,” whispered Skywarp, kissing Starscream’s cheek, tears of sympathy streaming down his face. “It was for the best. Not for him, but for you, and for us.” He nuzzled Starscream as Thundercracker hugged them both, “I love you so much and even though the war happened and stuff, I’m so glad that we’re alive! I really adore you!”

“I know,” whispered Starscream, his spark still aching anyway.

“Hey, hey, I know a cure for that pain,” whispered Skywarp, rubbing his olfactory sensor against Starscream’s. 

“I bet I know what it is too,” said Thundercracker, his breath warm in Starscream’s audial, his servos caressing up his front. Starscream grimaced, but he let them make him lay flat on his wings, submissive below them in private as he would never be for them in public. Thundercracker kissed Skywarp, then Starscream watched as he bore his spark, his trinemate’s cockpit shifting aside to display brilliant shining indigo blue. He hiccupped as Skywarp’s was bared for his admiration too, vivid violet striking beside Thundercracker’s, as brilliant as small suns. He squirmed, trying to deny the urge, but the instinct to bare his own spark in response was too strong and his own twinkling, regal, vulnerable crimson shone. 

Dimly he heard his trinemates murmur praise and he gasped sharply as they held him, their life forces joining in poignant ecstasy which was riddled with their sympathy. He felt their joyous resolve, how glad they were to be alive - _because Skyfire died_ \- and that he was alive too, all of them saved because long ago the shuttle had fatally nosedived, clipping a wing off. _Love you,_ they sang, and fraggit, he loved them too, adored them, some much ignored piece of coding within him stirring which he adamantly slapped back. _I love you,_ he sang back, and he twitched, then made an inelegant sound as their sparks finished merging, then jerked apart in processor-whiting overload.

“F-frag,” gasped Starscream, sprawled on his wings still, feeling blind with them flattened beneath him, unable to see. At least their nest was soft and he purred dazedly in appreciation of all the slag which Skywarp had stolen to make it as comfy as possible. (Provided that he ignored the vast quantities of glitter coating one end of the room, and the terribly drawn graffiti art which the glitch had made depicting Primus-knew-what, he could take it seriously.) He felt better, more okay - what did he care about a corpse he had long ago finished mourning? It was time to think about next orn, about raiding Mount Meager so that they could bring in Predaking, who would give him Silverbolt’s helm.

Then, the idiotic Autobots would have _two_ shuttles to bury.

He snickered, “Do you think Predaking’ll give us Sky Lynx’s helm too?”

Skywarp giggled, “Maybe Alpha Bravo and Airazer and Dogfight’s as well!”

“How about Whirl’s rotor blades, all twisted up?” suggested Thundercracker.

“Just all the Autobots,” sighed Starscream, rubbing his chest, his armour having involuntarily closed back up over his spark. “All of them. Optimus Prime’s helm too. Ugly fragger. Too bad… too bad he’d never…” he switched to Vosian, too nervous to say it in Kaonite, “…give us Buckethelm.”

“Mhm, you’ll have to be rid of him prior to that,” noted Thundercracker, also in Vosian. It felt so good to speak their language, and Starscream purred at the sound of Thundercracker speaking it. His deep, rich voice sounded so much more appealing in it, hotter, more - Starscream attempted to remind himself that he had work to do.

“Ey, Star, you wanting another overload?” giggled Skywarp, catching wind of what was in his spark like some stupid rutting organic scenting another in heat.

“No! I have to plan this slagging raid!” grumbled Starscream, sitting up hurriedly.

“But our spikes are so _llllonelyyyy,”_ declared Skywarp, walking his digits down Starscream’s belly to his -

“Stop that!” squawked Starscream, pushing his trinemate’s infernal servo away. “I need to work! Frag each other!”

“We just did, technically,” smirked Thundercracker.

“Gross,” hissed Starscream, stalking away to the other side of the room, where he attempted to ignore the massive rendition of a spike which Skywarp had painted there. He had no idea whose it was supposed to be, or why Skywarp was so depraved, so he attempted to convince his processor that it was actually a drawing of some very unfortunately shaped rock formation or something. Yeah. He attempted to glare at his deviously smug looking trinemates, _satisfaction/lust/happy_ ringing out across the bond from them. “I’m working now. You entertain each other.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He knew that he shouldn’t have said that. The lovable idiots did entertain each other in the loudest, most obnoxious manner that they knew how, Starscream stubbornly turning his wings on them then averting his optics desperately from the spike graffiti as behind him the idiots moaned like pleasurebots, at least half their volume faked for his benefit.

“I’m sorry that you died for this, Skyfire,” grumbled Starscream, as Skywarp squealed about how ‘fantastical’ Thundercracker’s spike was, gasping unrealistically. “Hopefully you’ve reincarnated by now or something so that you don’t have to see this dumb slag.”

“St-arr!” sang Thundercracker stupidly. “M’spike thinks y’should plan Autobot deaths more laterrr! Right now he’s missin’ your valve!”

“Primus help me,” moaned Starscream. He glared over his shoulder at the two ridiculous glitches, “Thundercracker, I will frag you and Skywarp nine ways to Luna II when Predaking gives me Superion’s stupid spark chambers, but right now, I need to work!”

His trine were unimpressed, and within the groon, the insistent slackers had him convinced otherwise.


	5. Divided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyfire meets more of the Autobots, encounters a questionably named human, and discovers a horrifying truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, everybody, it's PROWL time! I'm used to IDW Prowl, who is kind of a slagheap, sooo... (also, somewhere in the background Red Alert is likely paranoidly watching Skyfire's every move.)

The _Ark_ had but a small population of Praxian mecha, and Skyfire had just met the one who was decidedly his least favourite. Ratchet was grumpy but kind and Bluestreak never stopped talking, but at least neither of them were afthelms like the former enforcer, Prowl, whose doorwings proudly declared his former occupation. He had mean little blue optics, a light bar which seemed to flash whenever the mech was remotely annoyed (which seemed to be constantly,) and Skyfire could tell within two kliks of knowing him that the grounder absolutely hated him. He had been called to the mech’s office, which was too small for him, and now he sat crammed in the room with the angry little Praxian, wondering what he had done to make the mech look like he wanted to shoot him in the face.

Prowl narrowed his optics, seeming annoyed about having to look up at Skyfire as he spat, “I suppose that I should welcome you to the _Ark_.” He sounded like he wanted to tell him return to his crevasse purgatory.

“You don’t have to, other mecha have already done that,” pointed out Skyfire, although really, he’d only met the medics, Optimus Prime, Bluestreak and Wheeljack. He still didn’t feel like he could count the Aerialbots.

“I want to be certain that you are not a Decepticon,” snapped Prowl.

“Sir, I didn’t know what a Decepticon was until a few orns ago, and I still don’t really understand,” supplied Skyfire. “Mostly all I know is that both your factions slagged our planet, and that for some reason which I have yet to comprehend, someone painted the interior of this ship entirely orange.”

Prowl glared harder at him. “I do not appreciate your joke, shuttle.”

“It wasn’t a joke,” said Skyfire. “I’m honestly perplexed by the weird colour choice.”

Glare. “I will be watching you, shuttle,” growled Prowl. “I pray that you have been studying your manifesto.”

“I’m saving that for when I actually decide to join your faction,” said Skyfire, crossing his arms. “Right now, I haven’t decided yet because I’ve yet to hear a Decepticon perspective on this war.”

“You’ll be hard pressed to hear one,” snapped Prowl. “Decepticons prefer shooting over talking.”

“So you say, but you know what? I’m still going to need that other perspective before I say yes to being an Autobot,” said Skyfire stubbornly. “All I’ve heard since I got here is Autobots talking slag about Decepticons, but none of it sounds justified and nobody’s backed it up with any facts.”

“Shuttle, we’ve saved your aft, we’ve -” snarled Prowl and he looked absolutely enraged as his obvious rant was interrupted by another grounder mech, this one sporting a visor barging into the puny room, making it so that Skyfire had even less room.

“Ey, Prowler! Whatcha doin’ wit’ ta new mech? Op told ya not ta hassle ‘im and lookie what ya doin’!” said the visored mech. He grabbed Skyfire’s servo, “Prof, ya come with me - gotta buncha mecha real eager to meet ya!”

Skyfire doubted this, but he was happy for anything which helped him escape Prowl’s scowling, so he hurried obligingly after the other mech, who cheerfully informed him, “Don’ mind Prowler, he’s always like dat. ‘m Jazz, by the way.”

“Skyfire,” said Skyfire.

“Ah know dat, Prof, Ah heard that from Ratch,” said Jazz. “’m Chief of Autobot Special Operations, by the way - special missions gaining intel an’ such.”

Skyfire didn’t really want to know what ‘special missions’ meant. “Thanks for rescuing me from Prowl.”

“Eh, he’s harmless, mostly, ‘cept to furniture,” shrugged Jazz. “Like Ah said, don’t mind ‘im. Dis way now; ‘member dis hallway - dis is the way to the mess!”

Skyfire perked up, hopeful that this meant fuel, and he was rewarded as Jazz led him into a cafeteria-like room which was crowded with tables. Unfortunately, it was also crowded with mecha, all of whom were staring around at him, Jazz gleefully announcing, “’ey everyone, dis is Skyfire!”

“Hi,” said Skyfire awkwardly, then he shrank as immediately mecha hurried towards him, greetings seeming to come from every direction.

“Not often we getta new mech,” cackled Jazz as random mecha shook Skyfire’s servo. “Ya get tired of seein’ the same faces, y’know? Ya like a celebrity fer now.”

“Welcome to the _Ark!_ I look forwards to having you in my office!” a small orangish grounder told Skyfire earnestly. “I’m Rung, by the way - resident psychiatrist!”

“’e makes mecha less crazy,” explained Jazz happily. Judging by Jazz, Skyfire wasn’t sure how good at his job Rung actually was. Mecha clambered to meet him, exclaiming designations which he was too taken aback to remember, and somehow he found himself herded to a table at the back of the room, where he bewilderedly found himself sitting between Wheeljack and Jazz while the stream of greeting mecha continued. Skyfire felt quite overwhelmed, and the excitement at his appearance didn’t seem to be abating. A particularly small red grounder came scurrying up, exclaiming excitedly.

“How d’you feel about ‘cons, Skyfire?!”

“Cliffjumper!” growled the familiar voice of Ratchet as the medic shoved his way through the crowd. He scowled at Jazz and Wheeljack, “What the slag is this? This is far too much activity for him, don’t either of you have any sense?"

“’e’s gotta meet the resta the crew sometime, Ratch,” said Jazz shamelessly.

“Not yet!” squawked Ratchet, grabbing Skyfire’s servo and urging him up. “Come on, you, back to berth - I want you staying in your room for a few more orns.” 

“He didn’t answer my question,” squawked the annoying red minicon, Cliffjumper, following them to the door.

“Cliffjumper, he’s been in stasis lock for centravorns, he doesn’t have an opinion on Decepticons yet,” snapped Ratchet. “You will leave him alone - you too, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe!”

“Hey, we just came over to say hello, Ratchet,” scowled a larger red grounder who had just walked up. He nodded to Skyfire, “I’m Sideswipe;” he indicated the scowling yellow mech beside him, “this is Sunstreaker, we’re twins.”

_“Terror_ twins,” Skyfire thought that he heard Ratchet grumble resentfully.

“We’re frontliners - that means we go into the heavy combat,” said Sideswipe proudly, punching his own palm. “Sunstreaker and I, we’re the only ground frame mecha who can take down seekers when they’re in flight.”

“Yeah, they’ve perfected a kind of fighting - the humans call it jet judo!” exclaimed Cliffjumper eagerly as Skyfire’s spark constricted in horror.

“You take down _what?”_ asked Skyfire, revolted.

“Seekers. You know - those fast slagheaps with the claws and the null rays. Decepticon army is fulla them,” said Sunstreaker. “Fragging awful things - Sides an’ I try to kill them whenever we can.”  
Skyfire suddenly felt very much like purging. “Th-that-”

“Come on, Skyfire,” urged Ratchet, tugging on his servo. “You lot - you can get to know Skyfire more later. _Much_ later - right now he is on berth rest and he is _not to be disturbed!”_

There were pronounced groans from around the room which Skyfire ignored, too desperate to be free of the place, of especially the terror twins’ awful presence. Had he been up to it, he would have ran from the mess room, but he was too exhausted and too nauseous. He barely made it back away from the mess without vomiting, and he still felt like purging when Ratchet ushered him into his room, Skyfire gulping, “Do - do they really _specialize_ in killing seekers?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Ratchet heavily. “Obviously, that disturbs you.”

“Wheeljack spent over a joor telling me that you lot accepted mecha with wings -” protested Skyfire.

“Skyfire, there’s one thing you need to understand,” said Ratchet, guiding him over to his berth.

“W-what’s that?” hiccupped Skyfire.

“The Autobot Army does have seekers in it - but the vast majority of seekers which exist this orn followed their leader over to the Decepticons, and they have been one of our greatest threats ever since the war began,” said Ratchet. “They are formidable foes to us, they’re - well, they’re faster than all the mecha that we have. They can attack largely without warning, and they pretty much always attack in their trines. They are vicious combatants, they are extremely intelligent, and their leader has been the bane of our existence almost since the Decepticon cause began. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have been trying to take down him and his trine since then, but they haven’t succeeded. We… well, _most_ Autobots fear seekers. They’re like nightmares on wings and I can’t tell you how many mecha I’ve had to give sedatives to because they can’t stop remembering a seeker attack long enough to recharge.”

Skyfire shook his helm hard, “Seekers aren’t like that, they’re misunderstood. My amica endura was a seeker, he was the sweetest mech ever -”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” said Ratchet earnestly, touching his arm, “but nice seekers like him went extinct a long time ago, along with the rest of civilian Cybertron. Now all we have left are seekers like Sunstorm, Nacelle and Skywarp, who will rip you apart if given the chance. Trust me if nobody else, because I have seen it - when seekers kill they go straight for the spark chamber, and they show no mercy.”

Skyfire stared at him - surely Ratchet wasn’t serious. Surely this was a sick dream, or the medic was spouting Functionist propaganda - Skyfire had seen the like before.

“Now, I was serious about wanting you to rest so I will put a sign beside your door asking mecha to leave you alone for now. Here’s my direct comm frequency - use it if you need anything,” said Ratchet, handing him a card. “I can send Ambulon over with a sedative to help you recharge if you find that you can’t rest.”

The medic left, leaving Skyfire shuddering and crying on his berth. All he could decide was that he was almost glad that Starscream was gone, because it meant that he was safe from Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

* * *

“How is he doing?” Skyfire heard Optimus Prime ask Ratchet in a rumble as he lay grimacing prone on the med berth with his chest plates gaping open, the medic scanning his spark. His soft blue light was reflected on the ceiling above them, shimmering and beautiful and forever bereft of Starscream’s.

“He’s getting stronger,” grunted Ratchet, “and he knows that you’re here, so I would apologize about intruding upon his intimacy.”

“Skyfire, forgive me,” said Optimus Prime heavily, coming into view. “I have seen so many sparks in this war bared in this medbay that it is easy to forget how uncouth spark displays once were.”

“Please don’t watch,” grimaced Skyfire, hating the excuse, and it only gave him minute relief when the mech turned obligingly around. Ratchet continued scanning his spark for another klik, then he let him close up his chest plates.

“Getting better, but not as quickly as I would like,” huffed Ratchet. “It’s doomed to be a while, I’m afraid - as you’ve noticed, Skyfire, we don’t have jet grade. Nobody has made it since before Cybertron fell, and even then it was in very short supply. All I can do is inject you with supplements; fuel as much as your tank will tolerate with the low grade. You’re going to keep feeling weak and apt to recharge while your spark heals, but you will be alright, eventually.”

“Ratchet, Wheeljack had mentioned that Skyfire wished to meet some of our humans; perhaps that would be an acceptable distraction,” said Optimus Prime, Skyfire looking around hopefully.

Ratchet snorted, “Fine. I doubt a human can tax him too much - but Skyfire, humans are _extremely_ delicate and I cannot put them back together - so don’t sit or step on them or otherwise crush them.” 

“Understood,” said Skyfire, still hopeful that something exciting might come of this orn. He sat up, winced through Ratchet giving him his ornly injection of medicinal cocktail, then stood, his legs feeling a wee bit stronger.

“Optimus, if I hear that this becomes some big affair -” threatened Ratchet.

“Never fear, old friend, I will escort Skyfire back to his quarters, and I will keep the visit short, for both his sake and the human’s,” promised Optimus Prime. With Ratchet’s grunted approval, Skyfire happily followed the Prime out the door, the tall convoy remarking, “Ratchet’s quite fond of you.”

“How can you tell?” asked Skyfire.

“He doesn’t complain about your care the way he does Sunstreaker and Sideswipe,” said Optimus Prime.

“Why does he complain about them?” asked Skyfire.

“Constant injuries from their work as frontliners; they’re always undoing what he just fixed,” said Optimus Prime, and Skyfire could have sworn that he was smiling, but Skyfire averted his gaze, sickened, because he now knew exactly how the two frontliners got hurt - attacking beautiful mecha whom he didn’t think they had any right to hurt.

Bias towards seekers aside though, he knew that he needed to understand them more before he condemned them - even if it made him want to purge up all of his revolting low grade energon. (Actually, he didn’t seem to need inspiration to want to hurl that.)

“I’ve heard that you are so far refusing to join our cause,” noted Optimus Prime conversationally, “that you have cited not being able to hear both opinions. I have told you the history, Skyfire; the Decepticons have a perchant for wanton destruction.”

“And Autobots do not?” asked Skyfire, wings jerking with rage. “You have two frontliners who brag about killing seekers like they are turbofoxes, when seekers are actual sentient, complexly social, extremely intelligent, sensitive and tightly bonded mecha whom they are _murdering.”_

Optimus Prime took a step back from him in surprise, Skyfire elaborating relentlessly, “Forgive me, but you never mentioned the Decepticon targets which your Autobots bombed, the Decepticon _civilians_ whom your Autobots have killed, the neutrals who got in the way. You cannot convince me that there weren’t any and forgive me for the mistrust, but I bet you’ve killed Decepticons too. Just because you’re a Prime doesn’t mean that you are truthful or unbias - Sentinel Prime taught many frame types that.”

“Sentinel was corrupt, I am not,” claimed Optimus Prime.

“See, you say that, but I haven’t been here long enough yet to see that for myself,” said Skyfire. “My point is, sir, is that I will not be blindly joining your cause just because you rescued me from the ice. So far, all I can discern is that you’re all just a bunch of mecha fighting over nothing at this point because from what I understand there’s no Cybertron and no energon.”

“Your opinion is valid, Skyfire,” said Optimus Prime, “however, you will learn. As you yourself have mentioned: you have yet to meet a Decepticon. Now, you will meet Spike Witwicky.”

“I will - _who?”_ spluttered Skyfire as a small yellow grounder walked out of a door and saw them.

“Spike Witwicky -” said the Prime again.

“’Spike’ refers to different stuff in the human’s language,” smirked the yellow grounder. “His name doesn’t refer to genitals, just sharp objects.”

Skyfire was deeply grateful that this was the case, but still - “Does he know what his slagging name means in our language?”

The grounder laughed, “We kinda think it’s better not to tell him. My designation is Bumblebee, by the way - I’m a scout. Do you need a translator?”

“I’ve never heard the human language even once,” nodded Skyfire.

“Hey, Optimus, I can take care of Skyfire here - Ratchet wants him back in his room immediately after?” asked Bumblebee.

“That is correct, Bumblebee,” said Optimus Prime.

“I’ll take care of it,” smiled Bumblebee. He patted Skyfire’s arm, “C’mon, big mech, I’ll introduce you to Witwicky, he’s a pretty great human.”

Skyfire, rather glad to be rid of the Prime, followed Bumblebee to the door which he had exited, the scout explaining, “There’s a few humans we have who live on base with us, so always try to watch your step, they’re very smart but they don’t always watch our pedes the way that they should. Haven’t had one squashed yet and we’re hoping to not have that change. Ours are really friendly, but they can actually be pretty nasty things, especially to their own kind, and they have some pretty horrible technology which isn’t to be messed with. Anyway - come inside!”

Following Bumblebee inside the room, which was full of the smallest furniture which he had ever seen, Skyfire was immediately struck by the sight of a truly tiny biped grinning up at him, exclaiming excitedly in its foreign gibberish at the scout, who beamed, “Spike says hi, Skyfire, he’s very excited to meet you - all of our humans are very interested in you.”

“Um, hello, Witwicky,” said Skyfire, quite against calling the puny fleshy thing a phallus. It seemed to be covered in a soft material which was neither fur nor plating. “What’s it covered in?”

_“He,”_ emphasized Bumblebee. “He’s covered in clothes - humans can’t naturally thermoregulate particularly well, so they have to wear insulation in order to keep themselves warm as well as protect their skin, which is extremely delicate.”

This was bizarre, and fascinating. Skyfire sat down to be closer to the human’s level, the tiny thing throwing question after question at him which Bumblebee dutifully translated. The human’s first order of business was wanting to know what his alt mode was, then he wanted to know what he had been doing when he had been frozen in the ice, so Skyfire explained as simply as he could, uncertain what the human knew about Cybertron.

Bumblebee chuckled after translating Skyfire’s explanation that he had been exploring Earth with a partner, “I’m sorry, but he’s asking you what your science partner’s designation was. I told him that you might be uncomfortable with that one because your partner might be passed away, but he’s still curious.”

Skyfire sighed heavily, his spark panging for Starscream, “How does he feel about seekers?”

“Seekers?” echoed Bumblebee in surprise. He translated to the human, who gave an animated reply of… _something._ Bumblebee shrugged, “He thinks we’re all cool, and he’s excited by the prospect of a seeker that maybe wouldn’t have shot at him. He really thinks flight frames are cool - actually, humans in general like mecha who can fly more than those that can’t. Humans are fascinated by flight, they’ve actually made their own flying machines, and believe it or not we make use of them sometimes!”

Skyfire smiled; the tiny human seemed to get reality better than his fellow Cybertronians did. “Well, then… you can tell him that my late partner, my amica endura and the love of my life… was designated Starscream.”

Bumblebee stiffened hard, his optics widening and he gaped at Skyfire as if Skyfire had just informed him that Unicron was his best friend, instead of an innocent little scientist (granted, Starscream was bigger than Bumblebee was.) After a klik, the human got tired of waiting for Bumblebee to translate and tapped his leg, but Bumblebee didn’t seem to notice, finally spluttering, “Did - did you actually just say_ Starscream?!”_

“Yeah,” said Skyfire uncertainly, taken aback by the yellow grounder’s reaction. “Professor Starscream of Iacon - well, he was actually of Vos, but he didn’t like Vos, so - are you alright?” Was it just him, or was Bumblebee looking sick? Apparently the human was worried about him too, because it made some unhappy sounds at the scout and thumped his leg some more with his puny servo.

“Sk-Skyfire,” gulped Bumblebee, “what did Starscream _look_ like?”

“Why?” asked Skyfire, confused.

“Please, humour me,” said Bumblebee weakly.

“Well, he was kinda silvery white and red - this really, really beautiful crimson, and he had a nice soft sky blue on his points as well as a fetching dark face like graphite. Super stunning little tricolour, I couldn’t admire him enough,” sighed Skyfire fondly. He rubbed his face, admitting sadly, “He probably died of spark defragmentation not long after I went missing. The medics said he only had about a decavorn to live.”

Bumblebee was still looking at him as if he was talking about Unicron, the mech’s plating quivering madly.

“What?” asked Skyfire uncertainly, the impatient human jibbering something probably similar.

“Skyfire,” said Bumblebee hesitantly, “I - Primus, I have no idea how to tell you this, mech.”

“Tell me what?” asked Skyfire.

Bumblebee visibly gulped, “You’ve heard of Megatron, right? Lord of the Decepticons?”

“Yes, of course,” frowned Skyfire.

“Well… there’s two lieutenants who he keeps close to him. One’s his third in command, a telepathic ground frame host designated Soundwave of Polyhex, and the other -” Bumblebee hesitated, staring at him so worriedly, “- the other is a seeker of Vos.”

A seeker had gained high command? Skyfire began to smile, then he stopped when he saw the frightened way that Bumblebee was looking at him. The grounder shivered, “The seeker… he’s _your_ seeker. Air Commander Starscream… Winglord of Vos. He’s one of the founding members of the Decepticons, and one of the most dangerous mecha to ever live.”

It was Skyfire’s turn to stare like a five vorn old sparkling. “You’re glitching. _My_ Starscream, dangerous?”

“M-maybe, Skyfire… come with me,” spluttered Bumblebee, reaching down to pick up Witwicky seemingly unconsciously and cupping the human in his servos protectively. He stepped out the door, and Skyfire began to follow him, the scout declaring, “I-I just wanna make sure that I’m right, you know? I’ll show you his file, and you can tell me if it’s the same seeker.”

Witwicky asked something and Skyfire listened tensely as Bumblebee spoke an explanation in the human’s language, at which the tiny thing gaped at Skyfire too. Bumblebee led him to another room, this one with properly sized furniture as well as a great deal of shelving full of datapads, announcing, “This is the records room, Skyfire. This is where we keep track of our history - and what we know of the Decepticons.” He put Witwicky down on top of a table which he gestured at Skyfire to sit at and Skyfire uncomfortably evaded the human’s weird little gaze, the alien seeming excited. Bumblebee returned with a datachip which he plugged into the hologram projector in the centre of the table and Skyfire’s spark clenched as instantly before him there proudly stood a holographic image capture of a mech who was completely unmistakable. 

Beloved scarlet optics smouldered back at him from a dark face, yet Skyfire had never seen Starscream look so cold, or so smug, an unpleasant sneer on the seeker’s lips which he had never seen before. Bumblebee touched a button and footage of Starscream in his alt mode played, the seeker flying at high speed with two other seekers right behind him, just as unmistakable in his alt mode as in his root, looking exactly the same as ever, except for the purple Decepticon emblems emblazoning his wings. Beside the footage there was a seemingly never ending scroll of data beneath a paragraph of basic information which Skyfire sickeningly realized was a list of criminal offences, a list which started impossibly with the murder of senators. Feeling sick again, Skyfire averted his gaze from that and looked at the basic information instead.

**STARSCREAM**  
DECEPTICON AIR COMMANDER   
WINGLORD OF VOS, LEADER OF SEEKERS  
FRAME TYPE: SEEKER MECH  
TRINE: THUNDERCRACKER, SKYWARP

_Trine._ Skyfire’s spark gave an uncomfortable twinge and his gaze shifted back to the alt mode footage, which seemed to impossibly be displaying exactly that. As he watched, he realized that the duo following Starscream weren’t just flying with him - they almost seemed to moving off of his thoughts rather than his body language. As he watched, he saw the way that they banked exactly as Starscream banked, dived as he did and climbed - there was no lapse to imply them reading his frame language. Further, their movements together were practically a dance, the trio braiding through the sky, weaving their contrails together in unity, except - except they _weren’t_ dancing. They were shooting off missiles, null rays and machine guns firing, Skyfire’s servo flying to his mouth as he saw Starscream’s blaster fire tear through a mech standing on a skywalk with a gun, the grounder collapsing as the trine tore relentlessly past.

“Thundercracker and Skywarp?” beseeched Skyfire helplessly, staring at the blue mech and the black, both slightly larger than Starscream, both more than beautiful enough to be worthy of him. They were swift, keeping up with Starscream effortlessly as Skyfire had never been able to, and he weakly wondered how they had met, how they had fallen in love, for surely what he was seeing was a product of romance. Surely Starscream had moved past him, and Thundercracker and Skywarp had filled the void which Skyfire had left in his amica’s existence.  
Bumblebee just watched him steadily, “This is your Starscream?”

“H-he trined?” spluttered Skyfire. He knew that he should be relieved, and he was relieved, yet he couldn’t stop looking at the Decepticon emblems on Starscream’s wings, which meant that he and the seeker were on separate sides of the war. Sickened, he checked the red Autobot symbol on Bumblebee’s chest, confirming without a doubt that they were completely different, and he gaped as the footage in the hologram changed, so that now he was watching Starscream prowl across a public stage in his root mode. He stopped beside a huge grey tankformer and a gold visored blue mech; Starscream smirked along with the tankformer, who was declaring something muted but passionate. Barely in sight lurked Thundercracker and Skywarp and as painful as it was to see, Skyfire felt that there was absolutely no mistaking that they were Starscream’s trine from the keen way that they watched him move across the stage. 

As the image turned to a still of Starscream standing with his ever-present trine, wings proud, Skyfire found himself trembling uncontrollably. Starscream, trine or no trine, was alive, was still with him - he would want to know that Skyfire was alright, that he -

A horrifically loud and startling noise suddenly blared, a light above the door which they had entered through flashing red as a voice roared out of a speaker set high on the wall._ ::ALL AUTOBOTS, TO THE STAGING AREA! OUR PRESENCE IS REQUIRED TO HELP HUMANKIND! ALL AUTOBOTS, GET READY TO ROLL OUT!::_

“Gotta go; come on, Skyfire, back to your room!” exclaimed Bumblebee hurriedly, shoving on his side. 

“But what’s happening?” yelped Skyfire.

“I don’t know, I -” Bumblebee froze as there was a fritzing of static, “oh. Oh, frag! The Decepticons are attacking a city! Move it, Skyfire, I gotta roll out with everyone else!”

“Everyone is leaving?” exclaimed Skyfire as he was quite forcefully herded into the hallway. Mecha charged past, barely sparing them a glance, all of them looking extremely excited.

“No, just most mecha - what do you think, we’re insane? Nobody’s dumb enough to leave their base unprotected!” said Bumblebee, shoving on him. “Move, move, move, shuttle! Let’s go already!”

“In case you’re unaware, my spark is damaged,” growled Skyfire irritably, unable to go much faster than an amble. He forgot to move as he saw Sideswipe and Sunstreaker run up, both looking bizarrely stoked to be heading out into a battle where they might die.

“Hey, move it, Bumblebee, or you’re gonna lose out!” exclaimed Sunstreaker.

“I’m trying to hurry, I have to get Skyfire back to his room,” complained Bumblebee.

“Skyfire, mech, we’ll bring you back a seeker wing,” smirked Sideswipe, winking.

“Please don’t,” said Skyfire, rather hoping despite himself that things would happen in reverse for the obnoxious mech.

“Poor civvy - you’ll be one of us in no time! Let’s go, Sides!” barked Sunstreaker and the pair mercifully ran off, leaving Skyfire still being hassled by Bumblebee. They finally reached his door and Bumblebee charged away without even saying goodbye, or giving Skyfire a chance to utter good luck. He was left standing outside his door in confusion, watching mecha run past until abruptly there was a curse, Ratchet clattering to his side.

“You! Go to berth!” ordered Ratchet.

“What’s going on?” asked Skyfire nervously.

“The Decepticons are attacking a city so we’re going to go drive them off,” said Ratchet, “and may I elaborate: by ‘we’ I do not mean us. I am going to prepare the medbay in case of casualties, and _you_ are going to go to berth. You’re in no condition to help or do anything remotely useful, so go rest!”

“Do you know if Starscream’s there?” asked Skyfire worriedly, thinking of the terror twins.

“How do you know about Starscream? Never mind - go to berth I said!” growled Ratchet, and deciding that the medic looked plenty threatening, Skyfire retreated obediently into his room, but for a very long time, nothing could inspire him to rest. His processor kept replaying the footage of Starscream flying with the trine which he had found - and the horrifying words of Sideswipe: _we’ll bring you back a seeker wing. _

What if _his_ seeker was in the same battle as that psycho?

“Please,” moaned Skyfire, “please don’t get killed this orn, Star. Please…”

He wished that he had been found by the Decepticons.  



	6. Raid on Mount Meager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated 'M' for 'Megatron' - also, heed the tags, this chapter contains violence, and space robots acting exactly how you'd think they'd act around puny delicate life forms. (Cue up the Wilhelm Yells.)

::Sir, the attack on Kelowna has been a success; Autobots are responding to the humans’ distress,:: reported Onslaught from the city.

::Excellent - the sentimental fools will wish that they had never gotten so attached,:: purred Starscream as he soared above the jagged coastal mountains of British Columbia, on a direct flight trajectory with Mount Meager. ::Continue your attack, Onslaught; I trust you to cause as much havoc as possible.::

::Not as Bruticus,” moaned the Combaticon, making Skywarp snicker.

::What’s wrong with poor, darling Bruticus, Onslaught? Don’t you love being him?:: taunted Starscream.

::Sir, Bruticus is dumber than a bag of wet cement,:: groaned Onslaught. 

::Just keep causing havoc however you think best, Onslaught, I’m sure Brawl in particular is having a _fabulous_ time,:: smirked Starscream, his trinemates laughing. 

::It’s not Brawl who has gone crazy with happiness, sir, it’s the fragging Stunticons,:: complained Onslaught. ::Why’d you have to take Blast Off anyway? I couldn’t form Bruticus if I wanted to without him!::

::Well, you can tell me all about it when we’re done this, and Onslaught, you know better: Blast Off is a _shuttle._ We need his shuttly services; hope the humans are having fun with the wildfires courtesy of Sunstorm!:: sang Starscream and he terminated the conversation, declaring on a tightly closed frequency with his trine, ::That fragger Onslaught hates getting his servos dirty, hah!::

::There’s Mount Meager, Star,:: noted Thundercracker, Starscream turning his attention to the massive stony volcano, which sported exactly one fumerole to declare to the world that it was a natural disaster waiting to happen.

::Seriously, what is with Autobots and volcanoes lately, anyway?:: wondered Skywarp.

::They’re dysfunctional idiots who lack a sufficient appreciation for plate tectonics and volcanology, Skywarp,:: explained Starscream, arming his weapons and opening a channel to Buzzsaw. ::Buzzsaw, how are things looking?::

::Quiet, sir,:: reported the spy. ::You’re good to go. Dogfight’s trine was here, but they shot off for the other target over a joor ago.:: 

::Perfect, keep alert,:: ordered Starscream. He switched to the general attack party’s channel, ::Alright, mecha, be ready to attack and stomp humans, but don’t destroy the energon or provoke the angry mountain of death. I repeat: Mount Meager is a Primus-fragging _volcano_, so don’t slag it off! Astrotrain, Blast Off, get ready to haul scrap; everyone else - see an Autobot, _kill_ an Autobot and don’t let them chat about what we’re doing here!::

There were chirps of agreement and Starscream purred, feeling his trine pulse back their excitement - at least this part of war was fun. Just for a klik he let them fly closer, their sensitive nosecones almost touching the trailing edges of his wings, their proximity making all of their sparks flicker with _joy/love,_ then Starscream flew faster, commanding, ::Decepticons, drop altitude and begin operation!::

The humans guarding the base didn’t stand a chance - neither did the two grunt Autobots, both unfortunate ground frames, whom Skywarp snatched into the air, teleporting them to the outer reaches of Earth’s atmosphere where he clawed their comms out before letting go of them, watching them drop. Skywarp reappearing by his side, Starscream led the charge into the bunker, a human screaming at the sight of them swiftly silenced by Thrust swatting the thing. One swipe of a servo, that was it - the flesh bags were ridiculously delicate and Starscream snickered, wondering why the Autobots ever bothered with the idiot creatures. Ignoring Thrust’s distressed morbid grumbles about wanting to wash his hand, Starscream hacked into the vault holding the energon with expert speed, then smirked at the sight of it.

“Primus, you are good!” exclaimed Ramjet reverently, dashing inside with Dirge, Starscream standing aside to let the others through.

“Leave the god praising to Sunstorm, Ramjet,” complained Thrust, finally managing to wipe his servo on the wall and buckling down to help. Starscream shouldered in as soon as the others had grabbed something, lending his aid hauling the heavy slag back to the waiting shuttles who were guarded by Frenzy and Blitzwing. Skywarp teleported him, saving them some effort and swiftly they loaded the shuttles, stuffing them full until they were so packed that they would need the humans’ gravel road for takeoff. Thundercracker oversaw this, Blitzwing laughing at Astrotrain and making cracks about him being heavy, but the shuttles still cleared the tree tops, soaring straight for orbit rather than be remarked upon by the nearby Vancouver Air Traffic Control.

Back inside the bunker, they secured the rest of the energon together with cables and Starscream nodded to Skywarp, who vanished with it, teleporting it to a hidden retrieval point where Megatron was waiting with Soundwave and Barricade to guard it. Starscream ran back outside, smirking at the cheers of his seekers until -

::Sir, we’ve incoming! Seems Dogfight’s on his way back!:: exclaimed Blast Off. ::Astrotrain and I are too loaded down to maneuver properly.::

::Perfect; mecha, let’s rub his face in how thoroughly dumb he is,:: declared Starscream, to agreeable cackles from his soldiers. He rocketed into the air, Blast Off gleefully broadcasting the incoming seeker’s position on a wide frequency. 

::Just one? How foolish,:: smirked Ramjet as they saw the singular seeker approaching.

::Nobody thinks about attacking my wingmate on my watch!:: declared Blitzwing. ::Astro, I fly for you!::

::Just slagging crash him, Blitzwing,:: groaned Astrotrain, ::this is slagging heavy and I don’t want to have to fly anymore than I have to.::

::I agree with Blitzwing - take out the traitor!:: snarled Starscream. ::He flies against the Decepticons, he flies against Vos! Get him!::

::Just to be clear, you’re talking about your citystate, right? Not the crazy fragger who turns into a gun -:: said Blast Off.

::Yes, _Vos_ the original _Vos!_ Not that idiotic pretender!:: shrilled Starscream, feeling personally insulted by the Decepticon Justice Division member in question’s choice in fake names. ::He turns into an _inanimate object_ for frag sake! He’s not even _Seeker!::_

::Star, rant later,:: chirped Thundercracker, and Starscream watched, thoroughly pleased, as Dogfight panicked, clearly realizing his poor judgement. Dirge led the hunt for the stupid fragger and Starscream was quite a bit less pleased when Dogfight concentrated his efforts not on fighting back like a ninny, but on getting his tailfins back to safety. He escaped, and Starscream called off his attacking mecha, concentrating his efforts on escorting his shuttles back to the Nemesis. Shortcutting through space, they had no problems with the angry humans below - ludicrously, none of the aliens’ fighter aircraft were space-worthy, the creatures pathetically limited to the confines of their planet. Within a few joors they were back at the Nemesis, and after a few more, with Skywarp’s energon score secure, everyone returned to base, they were safe, the mission a complete success with zero casualties on their side.  
Megatron consented to them celebrating with high grade.

“Good work, Starscream,” praised Megatron as Starscream sat on one side of him, Soundwave on the other in the mess hall at the head table. He toasted Starscream with his glass, “Onwards, to the deaths of Superion, and in time, Optimus Prime.”

“Yes, my lord,” purred Starscream, toasting the warlord back. “Victory will be ours and we will finally soon have peace across the galaxy.”

“Indeed,” smirked Megatron. “There will be no more Functionism under my rule. All mecha have value; gone will be the orns when frames like us suffered.”

Those orns, in Starscream’s opinion had long ended, at least in the historical context, but glancing around at the _Nemesis_ and the very rare glass of high grade in his servo, Starscream curled his lip, wondering how the fool meant to end their suffering when clearly life was still as hard as ever for them. That orn had been a complete victory, yes, but only through some small amount of luck, and because it had been Starscream’s idea instead of the tankformer’s, whose dumbaft plans usually consisted of stealing stupid slag from humans. Still, he drank his hard earned high grade and wondered as he often did just how Megatron intended to get their very scuttled ship off the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, the warship’s solitary redeeming feature being that it was still capable of maintaining life. That Megatron had yet to voice a plan - a sane plan - rankled him, and that he had refused to call in another ship for help like the Victory was more than a little annoying. 

Starscream wanted to abandon the Nemesis, yet he got the distinct feeling that Megatron never would. The daft fool was getting proud in his old age, and Starscream longed to shoot him in the spark - although he did not long it too loudly. Glancing at Soundwave, he guarded his thoughts and sent appeasement across the trinebond at his mates, who never liked it whenever he was within grabbing range of Megatron. Agonizingly long vorns of experience had taught them that the mech would not think twice about shooting Starscream if he angered him, and that conversely, the slagheap had a thing for mecha with wings. Besides, the horrible mech already had potential reason to attack Starscream - he still didn’t know about the seekers’ first energon raid. Starscream had logged it as a training exercise and he wasn’t keen for Megatron to learn that it had been anything else.

“Starscream, a mech begins to contemplate the future,” mused Megatron suddenly.

Starscream whipped his helm around at the odd tone in the tankformer’s voice. On Megatron’s other side, Soundwave shifted uncomfortably, and seemed to study the ceiling, which was a dead giveaway that their inglorious leader was about to say something incredibly dumb. “Oh?”

“If I were to die, who would lead our army, who would keep track of our dream?” asked Megatron stupidly, still in that annoying dreamy voice.

“I would,” scowled Starscream, wondering if the old mech was already overcharged, even though he had only had one glass, “as I am your second in command.” He attempted to savour what remained in his own glass, even though it was the worst high grade that he had ever tasted - the stuff Megatron sanctioned always was. Mixmaster could make better, but he saved that swill for the parties which Megatron didn’t know about. There had been a time when the Decepticons never would have dared hide things from their leader, but those vorns were centravorns in the past - cracks had started to fracture Megatron’s command.

“A mech begins to wish for an heir, Starscream,” sighed Megatron wistfully. Behind them, Thundercracker and Skywarp’s wings jammed skyward, their spinal struts snapping rigid. Starscream stared at Megatron, hoping that he wasn’t serious, knowing exactly who the poor idiot meant to be the carrier of said heir from the thousands of vorns worth of lecherous glances would be. Megatron met his gaze steadily, completely serious, and unfortunately, not overcharged like Starscream had hoped. “You’ll do your part for the Decepticon cause, won’t you, Starscream?”

“I am_ trined,_ Lord Megatron,” growled Starscream, snapping to his pedes and sweeping his trembling wings back in threat. “Further, you are _not Seeker!”_

Additionally, the idea of _that_ on top of him made him want to purge up the high grade, which was unfortunate, because the only time that Starscream ever felt remotely sated anymore was when he drank the weak warlord-approved liquid (or Mixmaster’s.)

“Oh, but Skywarp and Thundercracker don’t mind sharing do they? For the sake of the Decepticon cause?” pondered Megatron, with a bizarrely expectant look back at Starscream’s trine, who were feeling absolutely murderous in the trinebond. _OURS/outrage/hate!_ screamed across the bond, yet somehow, outwardly, all they did was glare.

“Lord Megatron,” hissed Starscream as everyone in the room looked around, finally catching on that something stupid was happening, “_they_ are not allowed to spark me, so neither are you!”

“And why not, Starscream? Aren’t you loyal to the cause?” asked Megatron, standing too, the fusion canon coming online.

Starscream took a step back in outrage, horrified that Megatron might mean to force himself upon him, the onlining fusion canon a clear blackmail. “Clearly, as we are celebrating a victory which I have won for the cause! That doesn’t give you the right to violate me!”

“You are my soldier, you are my -”

Starscream highly doubted that anyone in the room was surprised when Megatron couldn’t finish that sentence because Starscream had shot him in the chest at point blank range with a null ray.

“We may be soldiers belonging to our cause,” snarled Starscream to the room at large, “but our frames and sparks remain_ ours.”_

The angry growling of his seekers - _all_ of them, not just his trinemates - was music to his audials. Soundwave did not move, staring mildly down at Megatron, as if the warlord had merely passed out overcharged. Starscream furiously met the telepath’s gaze and Soundwave shrugged, declaring, “Soundwave: will speak with Lord Megatron. Starscream: expect retribution.”

Starscream shuddered and looked down at the unconscious, twitching warlord, all of his joy at his victory suddenly gone.

“Star, let’s go,” growled Thundercracker, brushing against him and taking a firm hold of his wrist. His mate looked across the crowd at their irritated seekers, declaring in Vosian, “Lord Skywarp and I will retire now with the Winglord. There is no longer victory here for us.”

“We will finish our high grade and retreat to the flight deck,” replied Dirge through bared denta, the rest of the seekers shifting in agitation with wing canted agreement. “We will not suffer this revolting ground frame’s presence tonight. Megatron insults all of us by suggesting that he _breed_ with our _Winglord.”_

“Agreed,” hissed Thundercracker as Skywarp took Starscream’s other servo and glared at Megatron. “Goodnight, seekers; well done.”

“Good job,” agreed Starscream, aggravated by the overprotection of his trine, yet aching to stop looking at Megatron. The mess hall disappeared, replaced by the quiet peace of their hideaway and his trinemates hugged him between them, the discord in their sparks singing starkly of their outrage. After a groon, Thundercracker pushed him down and Starscream let them reclaim him, all the while wishing that he had used his blaster on Megatron instead.

But he could never draw a handheld gun as fast as he could his null rays.

* * *

“Good work yesterorn, Sunstorm,” praised Thundercracker in Vosian as Starscream examined the golden seeker’s surgery weld, taking care to be gentle because he needed Sunstorm’s trine to trust him enough to keep performing the surgery as it was needed on him. It was not something which he trusted Hook with - it was a Seeker matter more than a Decepticon one. He needed his seekers to survive, and to do that, they needed to not be encumbered by vulnerable, needy, noisy, drooly frame parasites taking up nearly every single klik of their time. Starscream dabbed some more nanite gel onto the weld line then let Bitstream take Sunstorm back, Bitstream hugging the golden seeker in his lap with a purr.

“Those organic forests didn’t stand a chance against me,” chirped Sunstorm, then Bitstream nuzzled him and he giggled, showing no sign at all that he was in pain, “Primus was so kind when He gave me you, Bitstream!”

Starscream turned away as he heard Bitstream whisper to Sunstorm that he loved him, rolling his optics and thinking how remarkable it was that Bitstream wasn’t staring gormlessly at a computer for once. Hotlink had been apparently doing well at distracting the passionate hacker from messing around with technology. He looked around the flight deck, contented by the sight of his seekers resting and grateful that they still had their own language, their own way that they could be what they were in relative peace, even while living with rough mecha like Motormaster who would have sneered heartily at Bitstream telling Sunstorm that he loved him. 

Plating itching despite the flying of the orn previous, Starscream stepped towards the lift which would take him and his trine into the sky, feeling a need to spend some time in their element together. Skywarp noticed where he was leading them and jittered excitedly, a grin breaking out on Thundercracker’s face that Starscream was taking them heavenward. _Oh, where would they go?_ sang excitedly through the bond and Starscream didn’t know, but it would definitely be fun -

“STARSCREAM!” snarled Megatron, stopping Starscream in his tracks, every seeker on the deck scrambling to their pedes uncertainly at his intrusion into their territory. Thundercracker and Skywarp both growled, then took advantage of the fact that they stood between Starscream and Megatron to stay where they were, wings flared as the warlord stomped up. The former gladiator was absolutely glowering, “Skywarp, Thundercracker, step aside!”

They didn’t move. Belligerently, they stayed where they were until Starscream saw Megatron raise a servo as if to strike one of them, then he slipped out stubbornly between them, squeaking as unfriendly digits fastened around his throat. The tankformer roared, “Starscream you treacherous _fool!_ You do _not_ turn your weapons upon me!”

“Of-of course, my lord and master, of-of course, I am s-sorry -” spluttered Starscream, grateful that he didn’t have to vent through his neck like some beings. His vocalizer might get crushed though, as the tyrant’s servo tightened painfully. Starscream couldn’t even count the number of times that he had had to have it fixed or replaced thanks to Megatron’s merciless manhandling.

“You snivelling glitch!” snapped Megatron, and Starscream saw the attack coming, but it still hurt like Pit. The tank grabbed his right wingtip and twisted until it was all that he could do not to scream, then threw him bodily at the nearest bulkhead, which thankfully was not as painful as Megatron intended because Skywarp teleported himself into Starscream’s trajectory, so he hit the soft plating of his mate instead. Skywarp hugged him tight as he fiercely held back his tears of pain, watching Megatron stalk over, barking, “Be grateful that I don’t beat you more, glitch. The only reason I don’t is because I need your frame to be in good condition to carry my sparkling.”

“You don’t even know if I have carrier-coding!” snarled Starscream, scrambling free of Skywarp, outraged that Megatron’s ghastly notion of sparking him was still revoltingly holding out. “Carrier seekers don’t lead trines, my _lord!”_

“And yet, _you_ do,” snapped Megatron dangerously, and to Starscream’s panicked horror, the warlord dared to touch him, tracing an unwelcome digit down the faint weld on his middle. Almost involuntarily he slapped the heathen’s servo away and hissed, stilling when Megatron smirked, “I know what you do to the seekers with carrier-coding in my troops. I’ve had centravorns to notice it, Starscream, and Soundwave showed me security footage. You are a carrier - and by the faintness of that weld line, you’re nearly ripe to use that coding.”

Starscream stared at him, squawking, “It isn’t that! That’s from an injury, Primus knows I get hurt constantly -”

“Then explain why neither Skywarp nor Thundercracker have it. A sparkling created between us will finally give me full control of your dratted seekers, because it will be the Prince of Vos - imagine, Starscream, an heir to Vos as well as the Decepticons,” growled Megatron. He turned and began walking away, declaring idly, “We’ll discuss getting Predaking here next orn at tenth joor, Starscream.”

Starscream gaped after him in horror until the tankformer had stepped into the lift, then before Starscream could do anything, Sunstorm keened in Vosian, “How _dare_ he! This is not Vos’ glyph! A seeker carries only for their trine, and only with other seekers!”

“Bitstream, contact Acidstorm,” growled Thundercracker. “I feel like we need more of our kind here. He can come through the spacebridge with Predaking.”

“Right away, my lord,” agreed Bitstream, running to set up their long range transmitter.

“Winglord?” asked Dirge.

“I will not stand for this outrage,” Starscream managed to hiss.

“What if your trine sparked you first?” wondered Dirge.

Starscream stiffened; behind him, Skywarp and Thundercracker shared a guarded look. Starscream resisted the desire to scream, “No._ Nobody_ sparks me, not even them. It’s too dangerous here for seekerlings - and I would lose what power I have.”

“You’re going to lose it anyway, sir, if Buckethelm sparks you,” said Dirge worriedly.

“Buckethelm is not going to spark me! I am going to cut off his spike and shove it down his fragging throat!” snarled Starscream. “And _should_ he bare his spark, _well, well,_ I will kill him!”

With a huff, he hurried for his lab, furious that Megatron thought that he had a right to his frame and insulted that Dirge thought now would be a good time for helpless bitlets whom the warlord could stomp under his pede, never minding that Starscream didn’t want them in the first place. As he reached his lab, he could not help but notice that only one of his trinemates had come with him and he grimaced, knowing that Thundercracker was fielding damage control for him on the flight deck as Skywarp followed him faithfully into the lab.

“Here, Warp, entertain yourself,” grumbled Starscream, giving him a jar full of glitter, but the silly glitch didn’t immediately run off with it as expected. Instead he wrapped his arms around Starscream, who couldn’t convince himself to chase him away, needing the hug too dearly.

“Alright, now go prank Motormaster,” smiled Starscream after Skywarp had let go.

“’kay, but ‘m coming straight back,” chirped Skywarp, kissing his cheek.

“Don’t get slagged,” said Starscream, grabbing him to kiss him properly, then shooing him. “Go on, draw spikes all over his aft or something while he’s recharging.”

The adorable idiot giggled, then vanished, leaving Starscream to contemplate his lab, and how liberally Skyfire would have protested what Megatron had planned for him.

“It’s been nearly half a million vorns, why the frag am I thinking about him?” groaned Starscream. “Hope the Autobots gave him a nice funeral.”

He returned to his work, refusing to remember, and only perking up when he heard a telltale roar of rage echo from lower in the ship which signalled that Skywarp had faithfully done as ordered, something which was further proven as his mate teleported back to his side, absolutely covered in glitter, grinning from audial to audial. Hearing Motormaster’s enraged yells come closer, Starscream took Skywarp’s servos, trilling, “Seems I can’t concentrate; take me for a fly?”

“Yes, Star,” sang Skywarp and they rematerialized in the sky, where no grounder could ever touch them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hardly anyone knows that Mount Meager exists, which is amazing considering how close it is to Vancouver, the third largest city in Canada! I grew up thinking that Canada didn't even HAVE active volcanoes, just a bunch of dead ones - but as it turns out, it does actually have some. A few of them could even cause big problems. (Not to mention Mount Baker looms over the Lower Mainland from just across the border like "HEY GUYS! I'MA VOLCANO! HEEHEE!")


	7. A Neutral's Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyfire discovers some grim facts about Cybertron's people, and comes up with a plan which may or may not violate a few basic rights in a bid to save Starscream (but hey, it's war!)

Skyfire awoke to a cacophony of mecha returning to base, images of an injured or dead Starscream leaping unbidden into his processor, so despite his spark flickering a faint protest at his getting up, he made straight for the medbay. It was full of shouting mecha, and to his horror, there were a few who were injured on medical berths, Ratchet’s servos deep in the side of an old scarlet ground frame cursing at the mech taking up the berth beside his unconscious patient, “Sideswipe, you dolt! Stay there, don’t you dare get up, your fragging leg is damaged!”

“I know that!” yelled Sideswipe back. “It’s _my_ leg, crankshaft!”

“Stop yelling, I’m trying to concentrate!” howled Ratchet back. “Ironhide’s fuel tank is perforated you glitch!”

“You stop!” protested Sideswipe. 

Seeing Sunstreaker much more quietly favouring bandaged servos, Skyfire inched into the medbay towards him, the scowling yellow grounder immediately looking around at him. Attempting to take up as little room as possible, Skyfire whispered, “So what happened?”

“Decepticons attacked a Canadian city called Kelowna as a rouse,” grumbled Sunstreaker. “They had one of their seekers set fire to the nearby mountains, then they went for the city itself, wreaked general havoc. Most of us were injured there - I hurt my servos trying to grab that slagheap seeker, Sunstorm - but two of our mecha were at a stash of energon we had way west of there, and they were killed by fragging Skywarp. We think the murdering glitch teleported them up high then dropped them, and we know it’s him because ‘sides Vortex he’s the only Decepticon who thinks its funny to kill like that, but Vortex was fighting us in K-town.”

“Was Starscream there?” asked Skyfire anxiously.

“Dogfight sighted him at the energon cache; he led the raid there,” growled Sunstreaker. He seemed to make an attempt at clenching his injured fists and gave up, “What I wouldn’t do to rip that slagheap’s wings off!”

Satisfied if horrified, Skyfire inched back out of the medbay, deciding that he needed to think. With some difficulty, he made it back to the records room where the holoprojector was still showing a hologram of Starscream and he sat down, then slowly committed himself to reading his amica’s list of war crimes. Swallowing, he unplugged the data slug then looked around for another one; finding one labelled PROWL, he plugged it in and frowned tremendously as he saw that instead of a list of war crimes, the Autobot’s data file listed his accomplishments for the cause.

“That’s not fair, where’s _his_ war crimes?” grimaced Skyfire, putting it back, then plugging Starscream’s in again, gazing sadly up at the footage of his partner. He was certain that the Autobots had committed crimes too - that were he in the Decepticon version of the room where he was, he would have seen a very different version of Prowl’s file. Before him, Starscream looked so achingly normal and Skyfire wondered what he could possibly do to save him, to save all of them. He didn’t want to fight in the war - and he was certain that after thousands of monotonous centravorns of it, plenty of mecha were getting bored of it, including, hopefully, his dear little partner. 

But the Autobots seemed to really hate the Decepticons, and the Decepticons - he cursed at not knowing what they felt. He wished that he could fly out, search for Starscream and chat with him - Skyfire’d trust his point of view. Starscream would tell him the truth about what was happening, and -

“Hey, Skyfire,” said Wheeljack, interrupting his thoughts, the grounder taking a seat beside him. “Looking at Screamer’s file again, huh? Bumblebee told me. Hard to believe _that_ was a scientist.”

“He’s a genius,” said Skyfire loyally, scowling over the ‘Screamer.’ “Why do you call him that? It’s demeaning. His voice is beautiful in Vosian.”  
Wheeljack sighed, seeming exhausted, “Mech, I hate to tell you, but nick-designations just happen in war. We got ones for Megatron and Soundwave too - Buckethelm and Sounders. Plus, your amica, he’s usually screaming when we encounter him, makin’ himself heard. But, speaking of your amica, I’m sure you’ve gleaned, ‘cus you’re a smart mech, but you shouldn’t talk about being his best friend and whatnot around here. Most of the faction despises him, and with good reason - he is our enemy.”

“I wish that he wasn’t,” vented Skyfire.

“I know,” said Wheeljack, touching his arm with a servo which felt sympathetic. “But we’re in a war, mech, and it is what it is. You know things weren’t good for mecha like you and him back before the war - you’ll notice, in time, that that’s why the ‘cons got more flight frames than us - including Starscream. I dunno what prompted him and his trine to join the ‘cons, but it is what it is now; they’re Decepticons, and we’re not, and mech, you _don’t_ want to join them over there. They probably badly needed the energon that they swiped off of us this orn.”

Skyfire grimaced, “What will happen to Starscream if the Autobots win?”

“Unless we can somehow come to a truce agreement, I don’t wanna think about it, Skyfire,” said Wheeljack. “Lotsa mecha want him dead, so dead he’ll probly be.”

Skyfire shivered and stared some more at the image of his amica, frowning as he noticed that something was missing from Starscream’s basic information. “What if… what if there was a way of changing his mind? He’s the Decepticon Second in Command, right? He has power.”

“I dunno where you’re going with that, Skyfire,” said Wheeljack bemusedly.

“I need to think about it - and go back to berth before Ratchet shows up to yell at me,” said Skyfire hastily, getting up. “I’m going to study my notes on seekers.”

“What? Why? You have notes?” asked Wheeljack, sounding interested.

“I’ll tell you later,” promised Skyfire and to his relief, the grounder respected this, but he still followed him to his room. He left though, promising to bring Skyfire fuel and Skyfire sat on his berth, thinking, _hoping_ that he had a way to save Starscream.

“S’what’ve you got, mech?” asked Wheeljack when Skyfire stepped into the cluttered lab early the next orn. A red mech, Perceptor, was also there, and Skyfire froze momentarily before carrying on to his appointed corner of the lab, declaring, “Hello, Perceptor, nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Skyfire,” said Perceptor. “You’re finally joining us?”

“Guess so,” said Skyfire, “but I’m still neutral, that’s fine?”

“Yeah, whatever, science is science,” said Perceptor. “What’s your notion? Wheeljack said you had one about Starscream or something?”

“Yeah,” exhaled Skyfire. “So, I have a question: how many mecha with carrier-coding remain?”

Perceptor and Wheeljack both looked bemused, Perceptor slowly admitting, “Not that many. It’s actually a big problem waiting to happen, most of the mecha with carrier-coding died with Cybertron because they weren’t fighters. Same with most of the sparklings.”

Skyfire swallowed this information painfully, “That’s… not pleasant. How many remain to the Autobots?”

“Only Ratchet knows the numbers, but he implied that there weren’t that many, it’s something he’s pretty worried about - and justly so, I mean, how do we maintain ourselves as a species if we can’t produce _more_ of ourselves? There hasn’t been any new mecha born since Cybertron fell; Bumblebee, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Bluestreak were some of the very last sparklings,” said Perceptor. “We’re not in good shape as a race, Skyfire, I hate to tell you.”  


“What if I told you that every single seeker trine in existence contains one mech or femme with carrier-coding?” asked Skyfire. “Living with Starscream, he told me a lot about his species; he even taught me his language. In a trine, there’s always one carrier, who is coveted, because only one third of seekers are born with that coding, yet a trine can’t function without that individual. Seekers have _really_ fussy genetics - they can’t create without two sires, they can’t even live past early adulthood without trining two mecha with complimentary coding and spark resonance or they die of spark destabilization.”

“And this relates to Starscream how?” wondered Wheeljack.

“The Starscream I knew was facing spark destabilization because he refused to trine. He refused to trine because he didn’t want to _carry_ \- in his glyphs ‘a bazillion sparklings for stupid fraggers.’ Starscream has carrier-coding,” said Skyfire triumphantly, “yet I didn’t see a single mention of progeny in his data file, which surprised me, because, quote Starscream again: ‘seekers breed like fragging petrorabbits.’”

Wheeljack snorted and Perceptor smirked, “Pre-war Starscream was rather amusing. So what are you getting at, Skyfire?”

“Seekers have extremely strong creator coding, once it’s online; Starscream used to complain constantly about over how overprotective he thought that his creators were, and he was fully grown,” said Skyfire. “I’m guessing that you mecha don’t know why Starscream doesn’t have creations, but to me it’s extremely odd that he doesn’t since he is presumably happily trined. At least, as his friend I _hope_ that he’s happily trined and that they have romance and all that. The fact that they don’t have offspring after all this time implies to me that maybe Thundercracker and Skywarp are really respectful of Starscream - I hope they are, but, okay - what if we could get Starscream sparked? Turn on that overprotective creator coding?”

They stared at him silently and Skyfire couldn’t tell whether it was because they thought that he had lost his processor or if they actually believed that he had something.

“Get Starscream sparked, his carrier-coding onlines, and his priorities will shift: war isn’t a good place for sparklings,” said Skyfire, clapping his servos together. “Starscream has great power if he’s Decepticon Second in Command, Air Commander and Winglord of Vos - I think once he has those protocols, he’ll do whatever the Pit it takes to make things safer for his creations. He once told me that seeker sparklings are really tiny and really vulnerable - he won’t want them anywhere near a war.”

“Okay, I’m for using our enemy’s own biology against him, Skyfire,” began Perceptor, “but what happens when he aborts the newsparks, or _Megatron_ makes him abort them?”

“What if he doesn’t know that he’s sparked?” reasoned Skyfire, knowing very well that what he was proposing was a massive violation of his amica’s rights, that he was possibly greatly endangering small new lives, yet it was the only plan he had been able to think up.

“So what - we get him drugged out of his processor then laid with some mech here -” frowned Perceptor.

“No!” protested Skyfire, furious. “It’s bad enough that we’re sparking him against his will, at least let him be sparked by the mecha he chose to spend his life with! Thundercracker and Skywarp spark him or nobody does! Presumably they’re the only mecha he’d tolerate siring his creations if he had any.”

“My question is, why haven’t they already?” asked Wheeljack.

“I don’t know, but here’s how it works in my helm,” said Skyfire, gesturing to illustrate his point. “We catch Starscream somehow, probably use me as bait because he’ll wanna check me out when he hears that I am alive; we capture him, find out what the frag is stopping him from getting sparked. Then, we fix that, put him into heat -”

“What?!” asked Perceptor.

“Heat,” emphasized Skyfire. “You know? When you spark a conjunx if you wanna create?”

“I have no idea what you just said,” noted Wheeljack to Skyfire’s bewilderment, “I just deal with explosives and slag, I’m an engineer.”

Skyfire looked nervously at the scorch mark above Wheeljack’s helm. “I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, Ratchet’ll know what I’m talking about and more. We put Starscream in heat, then we capture his trinemates. Then we get them all completely slagged out of their minds so that their reasoning is way off and they have their way with Starscream. We make sure Star’s sparked, we set them loose, all three of them think they just had a really weird night, and they fly off none the wiser. After a little while, Starscream starts thinking differently about his choices in life.”

“Um, okay,” shrugged Perceptor. “Why not, I guess? But are you okay with sparkling endangerment, Skyfire?”

“Their sires will protect them,” said Skyfire confidently.

“Well, I sure hope they can,” said Perceptor, “’cus Buckethelm likes beating the slag out of their carrier-to-be. Starscream’s his favourite target dummy.”

Skyfire blanched - he hadn’t been expecting to hear that.

“Skyfire, why are you assuming that Starscream would have multiple sparklings?” asked Wheeljack curiously, as if Starscream getting beaten up by his boss was old news.

“Star… always said that seekers usually have three,” grimaced Skyfire, feeling distinctly like vomiting again. “M-maybe this isn’t a good idea if Megatron is going to -”

“No, you know what? Let’s see what happens,” said Perceptor, to Skyfire’s horror having fully latched onto his plan. “Let’s talk to Ratchet; we’re gonna need his support to move forwards with this plan anyway, then we’ll have to take it to high command, Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide and Jazz.”

“Woo! Let’s find out just how strong Seeker coding is!” declared Wheeljack, Skyfire gaping as both got up to leave. Hurriedly, he followed them, shocked as he gleaned that their destination really was the med bay, Wheeljack chortling, “Hope he’s in a good mood. Shouldn’t be feeling too vengeful against seekers, since nobody was hurt by them (‘sides Sunstreaker ‘cus he’s an idiot,) in the last battle. You should’ve heard Ratch, Percy, Skyfire, he was all ‘how many times do I have to tell you not to touch the radioactive one?!’ It was great!”

“Sunstorm’s radioactive?” asked Skyfire weakly.

“Well, he bursts into flames of his own accord. Bit like Hot Rod, actually,” mused Wheeljack.

“Um, you’re _not_ serious about Megatron beating up Star, are you?” asked Skyfire, still running his processor over this in distress. Both mecha stopped and looked at him with expressions of dawning pity.

“Old Megs isn’t the nicest boss, Skyfire,” said Wheeljack softly. “He’s beaten Starscream half to death before, but hey, maybe if Screamer’s fulla bitlets, he’ll finally do us a favour and kill Megs.”

“Not sure if he’d be a better leader though,” said Perceptor.

“Well, I’m sick enough of Buckethelm to try the Starscream-leads-the-’cons method,” shrugged Wheeljack. “And like Skyfire said: war’s no place for bitlets - and he’s right, we_ need_ bitlets to create a future, or what are we even fighting for? Well, let’s talk to Ratchet.”

Skyfire belatedly noticed where they already were and gulped as they led him inside. Within, a typically scowling Ratchet was cleaning medical equipment and talking to two other medics, a conversation which stopped instantly at the sight of them, the medic snatching up a wrench.

“What’re you doing here?” growled Ratchet suspiciously. “Wheeljack, what have you done to Skyfire?”

“Nothing, Ratch, Skyfire’s just fine,” said Wheeljack, servos lifted in appeasement. “Actually, he’s great, he’s gotta plan we think might shake things up and maybe help our future.”

“A plan? A war plan which you need my approval for?” asked Ratchet, still suspiciously looking over Skyfire, Skyfire feeling mild alarm as the medic circled him. “Why? What is it?”

“Well, we won’t just need your approval, Ratchet, we’ll need your help,” said Perceptor. “Skyfire’s given us a bit of a revelation.”

“About what?” demanded Ratchet.

“Remember how you’ve been lamenting our low carrier population?” asked Perceptor. “Skyfire’s identified one who’s really got the power to shift things.”

“Yes, at this point we’re endangered, but _nobody_ listens to me,” growled Ratchet resentfully. “Who is it and why? None of our high command have carrier-coding, except fragging Prowl, but who the slag would ever want _him_ creating? His creations would go insane before they were even big enough to speak.”

“Prowl has carrier-coding?” asked Wheeljack somewhat dazedly.

“Yes, and don’t you dare tell anyone,” said Ratchet. He looked directly at Skyfire, “Who is this _other_ carrier-coded mech in power?”

Skyfire bolstered himself, admitting, “Starscream. I know because he spent a large part of his young adulthood with me before the war when we were amica endura complaining about it. Every single trine of seekers has someone who can carry in it and for his trine, it’s him. He’s one of the most powerful Decepticons that there is, and seekers have extremely strong creation protocols, he used to tell me that it was because seekers require a really high population index to survive.”

“You really see _Starscream_ as being Carrier-dearest to innocent lives?” asked Ratchet sceptically.

“He’s one of the most caring and affectionate mechs that I have ever known,” defended Skyfire, annoyed by the immediate frowns of disbelief he saw. “Once his carrier-coding is activated, I bet he’d be incredible, and I doubt that he trined mechs who are unworthy of him.”

“Thundercracker’s well enough, but Skywarp’s an idiot,” said one of the other medics, First Aid, sitting down beside Ratchet. “Rumour is he spends most of his free time pranking the rest of the Decepticon army.”

“That doesn’t say ‘stupid’ to me, that just says ‘bored,’” reasoned Skyfire, shaking his helm. “My amica wouldn’t conjunx a dumbaft - and seeker trines are conjunx endurae. Thundercracker and Skywarp are the only mecha who have any remote right to spark Starscream.”

“So that’s your plan, is it? Spark Starscream?” asked Ratchet sceptically.

Skyfire nodded, “We capture him, figure out why his trine hasn’t already sparked him, fix that, put him into heat, catch his trine and drug them out of their processors so that they don’t have any inhibitions stopping them from having their way with him. We make sure Starscream’s carrying, then we set him and his trine loose with them none the wiser that he’s full of their newsparks. Starscream’s carrier protocols come online and he starts rethinking his decisions in life. Pretty simple. Seekers are supposed to be prolific, so I found it kinda weird that he doesn’t already have any creations.”

“The lack of jet grade probably has something to do with it,” mused Ratchet. “Hard to create sparklings when you’re malnourished.”

“So we focus on creating some jet grade,” said Skyfire. “Why in perfect Pit haven’t you already?”

“We’ve been fighting this thing called a war?” huffed Ratchet. “How about that becomes your special project, since you’re so eager about it?”

Skyfire scowled, “Gladly. Obviously you’ve never had a flight frame scientist before.”

“We had Pharma, until he went psycho,” sighed a green medic. “Although he was a medic, which made it worse. I’m Hoist, by the way.”

“And I’m Ambulon,” said the fourth medic still bustling about the med bay.

“Do you know anything about heat cycles, Ratchet?” asked Skyfire.

Ratchet snorted as if insulted, “Of course I do. Fine. So, you want me to help with this plan of yours? What does it even accomplish?”

“Starscream as Decepticon Second in Command and Winglord of Vos must have the power to stop this war,” said Skyfire. “Something you’ve all failed to do in thousands upon thousands of centravorns. I don’t know why Starscream hasn’t done something already; maybe you’re all confused as slag because you’ve been fighting so long that you’ve forgotten what’s _actually_ important - but creator coding will make Starscream remember. He’ll want his sparklings to be safe; his _trine_ will want them to be safe, and they’ll do _something.”_

He crossed his arms, “Starscream as I knew him was a brilliant scientist, a genius. He’s _too_ smart for this and whatever started your stupid war is extinct - the functionists don’t even exist anymore, do they? I don’t get the point of any of this - we should be back on Cybertron, rebuilding our world together. I don’t like forcing my friend to become a creator, but I don’t want him to die because he chose the wrong side of this war either - I don’t want any of you to die either.”

“Skyfire, you are aware that Starscream has_ killed_ mecha, yes?” asked Ratchet.

“So, I bet, have all of _you,”_ said Skyfire firmly.

“He’s right,” mused Ambulon. “He’s the only innocent mech left in this whole base. At this point we’re all guilty of murder, whether we wanted to kill or not.”

“On the bright side, if his plan works the civilian population of Cybertronian mecha will increase,” noted First Aid.

“They will be very innocent mecha; seekers nearly always carry multiple newsparks,” grimaced Ratchet. “Fine. We’ll propose this to high command, Skyfire, but this plan isn’t simple. We will need that jet grade, we will need to figure out where to put Starscream’s trine while they are our ‘guests,’ and we’re going to need to convince other Autobots not to shoot at them. I can guarantee that Prowl in particular will not be a fan of this idea, but we might get Optimus on the merit that it creates new Cybertronian life.”

“Will it help at all that seeker sparklings are adorable?” asked Skyfire hopefully.

“Mech, if you have an image capture of a seeker sparkling, give it, we’ll put it on the cover of the proposal,” said Wheeljack. “Nobody here’s seen a sparkling in forever, it might help sell the plan.”

“Wheeljack’s right, I hardly even remember what a sparkling even looks like,” sighed Hoist. “Even an ugly sparkling would be cute now.”

Skyfire grinned, “Starscream gave me some image captures of his siblings, so we can use those. They were _really_ cute.”

“Okay, well, here’s a datapad, Skyfire; get on with writing up your proposal,” ordered Ratchet. “It’ll keep you busy while you are _staying in berth_ \- now get back there!”

“We’ll give our support, Skyfire,” promised Hoist, sounding like he was smiling, although Skyfire could not tell because he was wearing a faceplate. “I wanna see a sparkling again, I don’t care whose it is.”

Skyfire smiled in relief - it was potentially a very dumb, potentially catastrophic plan, and it went against Starscream’s right to choose whether he created or not, but maybe, just maybe, it would make all the difference.

And maybe Starscream might live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuteness sells, right?


	8. Starting Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Autobots admit that they've had dumber plans and Skyfire gets to go on a field trip.

Skyfire realized quickly that he had no idea how to plan a military operation, and that he probably needed more than science and cute pictures of Starscream’s long dead infant siblings to propose one. Fortunately, Wheeljack showed up at mid orn with energon for him, and Skyfire used his appearance as an excuse to waylay the other scientist for help. To his relief, Wheeljack gladly sat on the chair beside his berth and answered his questions while he sipped at the pathetic energon which was all that they had, thinking selfishly that Starscream wasn’t the only mech in desperate need of jet grade. While Wheeljack beta read his proposal for him, Skyfire began studying the data which the scientist had brought him on the Autobots’ energon acquisition and production, trying to figure out how he could better it so that they could start producing the far more concentrated jet grade.

After a joor, Wheeljack handed Skyfire’s proposal back to him, deciding, “There’s no way around the fact that this is a weird aft plan which might not get support, Skyfire. If we were back on Cybertron before the war, it’d never fly, but honestly, forcing Starscream to do what he is coded to do is way softer retribution than a bolt between his optics or his wings shorn off. I don’t know a slagging thing about what seekers are like as creators, so I’m running with this completely based on the implication that them having multiple sparklings at once gives evidence for your claim for them being devoted creators. Lots of ground frames aren’t, but I dunno mech, ground frames rarely have more than one creation anyway, you know? Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are really rare exceptions.”

“Do you have any ideas for how to catch him?” grimaced Skyfire.

“Don’t worry about that, Skyfire, Percy’s already got a plan,” Wheeljack assured him. “As for Starscream’s trine… nrgn, that’s a work in progress but we’ll get to it.”

Skyfire had no idea what this really meant. Wheeljack left him a groon later, and he spent the rest of his afternoon resting until being so still constantly finally frustrated him. Used to constant motion, either by flying through space, collecting samples on pede or working hard in a lab with Starscream, Skyfire twitchily left his room, which Wheeljack had informed him was actually called a hab suite. Beyond it, the hallways were very quiet and Skyfire wandered them at random until a chance flicker of a draft drew him through a pair of doors. Stepping out of them, he halted with a happy shudder, the draft proving to actually be a gust of cool mountain wind, fragrant with the scent of damp stone and melt water. 

Looking around, he was delighted by the sight of razor-edged peaks surrounding them, their shoulders draped with beautifully lush organic green life. The _Ark_ had been parked in a long river valley, the former home of a vast ice sheet, and Skyfire shuttered his optics, beaming as he felt the fey brush of the breeze against his hungry wings, sating sensors which he had not even realized were starving without it. Resuming his visual admiration of the landscape, he made note of a large ground of Autobots gathered on a nearby outcropping. Squinting, he awkwardly realized that the mecha were having a funeral, likely for the two they had lost in Starscream’s energon raid and he ex-vented, wishing that their friends had not had to die for his amica’s cause. Optimus Prime was officiating the ceremony and Skyfire pondered at how odd that was, because surely the Primes of old would have never have attended a lowly soldier’s funeral.

A scuffling behind him informed him that he had company and thinking that it was some ground frame, he turned to look, only to be surprised as he saw a pair of fellow flight frames instead. One was the aptly named shuttle Silverbolt - the other was one of his mates whose designations Skyfire didn’t know.

“Finally made your way outside?” asked Silverbolt, Skyfire noticing sadly that the mech was actually probably only half shuttle. The Aerialbots’ path indicated that they had previously been perched upon a hillock where the other three Aerialbots still were, along with a few other flight frames.

“Finally escaped _Hatchet?”_ snickered Silverbolt’s companion.

“Fireflight, shh, don’t call Ratchet that, that’s unprofessional,” said Silverbolt, standing beside Skyfire and fluffing his plating, seemingly in pure enjoyment of the sunshine which was streaking through the chilly wind. “I’m Silverbolt, Skyfire, this is my gestaltmate Fireflight - our other mates up there, they’ll introduce themselves when they notice that you’re here. Together we’re Superion and we’re known as the Aerialbots.”

“It’s good to finally meet you,” said Skyfire, then he took a step back in surprise as there was an abrupt shrieking roar overhead and a trine of seekers shot above them. “There really are seekers here!”

“Oh, we have a couple of trines,” laughed Fireflight. “We can’t use them in combat much though because the Decepticon seekers target them and call them traitors to their citystate. Mostly they’re recon.”

Skyfire twisted to watch as the trine flew out of sight, his spark swelling longingly at the beautiful anti-music of their thrusters. “I used to live and work with a seeker, he was my amica endura.”

“They’re good mecha, mostly keep to themselves,” noted Silverbolt. “Grounders think they’re weird and get kinda nervous around them, but that’s just how grounders are. Enough about seekers; good to see another shuttle here!”

“I’m guessing it’s been a while for you,” said Skyfire and Silverbolt laughingly told him exactly how long, which was more sad than funny. Theirs was obviously a doomed species, but Silverbolt was cheerful and they had a very good conversation until there was a grumpy shout.

“Oooo, looks like Hatchet found you,” smirked Fireflight as the red and white grounder huffed his way over, shaking a wrench at Skyfire.

“You! I told you to _stay in berth,_ what part of that was hard to understand?” demanded Ratchet.

“He’s bored, Ratchet,” defended Silverbolt.

“He’ll be dead instead if he overtaxes his spark, Silverbolt!” snarled Ratchet. He grabbed Skyfire’s servo, declaring, “No flying for you, Skyfire, _listen_ to your medic.” Skyfire didn’t miss the utter scowl which the medic shot over his shoulder at Silverbolt and Fireflight, the latter still snickering, “And you rest that wing, Silverbolt! Don’t you dare fly either!”

“Yes, sir,” said Silverbolt calmly to giggles from Fireflight. Ratchet growled and dragged Skyfire back inside the _Ark,_ muttering about disobedient idiots. He towed him all the way back to his hab suite where he insisted on taking a diagnostic, grumbling, “Good, your wander didn’t hurt you. Now show me your damned proposal for knocking up your seeker.”

Skyfire hastily handed over the data pad, a little surprised but grateful and he watched Ratchet read over it, complaining, “You had _Wheeljack_ go over this, didn’t you? Well, I’m going to fix it. Study that energon data while I do this, and I’ll see if we can get this to Optimus tonight. Your plan’s dumb, but we’ve tried dumber, so hey, why not?”

Ratchet didn’t really give Skyfire a chance to protest. He just started working, so Skyfire sighed and did the same, then listened with interest when the medic read him the reworked proposal. Then, to his amazement, Ratchet deigned to let him walk with him to Optimus Prime’s office, declaring that he needed to know where it was, and Skyfire stood nervously beside him as Ratchet handed it over to the Prime, whom to his shock was indeed at his office despite the relatively late hour. The Prime had company, so Skyfire felt bad for intruding, especially since one of the mechs was Prowl - the others were Jazz and the old red mech that he had seen Ratchet operating on.

“A proposal from our neutral civilian for possibly ending this slagging war and possibly making our race a little less doomed,” declared Ratchet grumpily as Optimus Prime took the datapad from him. “It seems Skyfire knows a shatterpoint in one of our greatest foes.”

“Starscream is a carrier,” mused Optimus Prime aloud in faint surprise.

“Screamer’s _what?”_ asked Jazz with delight and he clambered to read over the Prime’s arm, unable to see over his shoulder. Prowl also peered at it, but the red mech Ironhide seemed too distinguished and Skyfire began to worry when Jazz started laughing, “No way! Screamer’s supposedta be a carrier! Well, why not? Let’s see what happens!”

“Any number of things could happen, Jazz,” growled Prowl. “What if Starscream overthrows Megatron and is worse than him?”

“Prowler, he’s done that in the past, he wasn’t that bad - I mean, he was bad, but no worse than Buckethelm I don’t think,” said Jazz.

“There are ethical problems with this,” noted Optimus Prime, handing the proposal over to Ironhide. “The newsparks, if successfully created, might be put in tremendous danger -”

“Optimus, aren’t we_ all_ in tremendous danger?” scowled Ratchet and Skyfire listened quietly as the debate escalated fiercely from there, the five mecha seeming to bounce all over the place until Ratchet snapped, “I’m willing to give it a go! You realize how sick I am of mecha I’ve only just fixed showing up in our fragging morgue? For ages all we’ve known is death - if we can bring a little life back into things and change up this war, it’s worth trying, isn’t it?”

“Ah agree wit’ Ratch,” declared Jazz, throwing an arm around Ratchet’s shoulders which Ratchet clearly didn’t appreciate. “Why not? Haha, there’s been worse plans we’ve tried, plus look, there’s support - Perceptor’s already volunteered, so’s Wheeljack an’ First Aid, Hoist and Ambulon and Bumblebee. I officially volunteer too!”

“There are too many security issues -” snarled Prowl.

“The seekers are going to be so stoned they won’t know a damned thing,” snapped Ratchet. “Obviously there’s _questions_ in the plan which haven’t been answered yet, but we _will_ answer them. Optimus, do we have your permission?”

Optimus Prime gazed at the datapad again for a klik, “So long as it doesn’t interfere with other military operations.”

“Perfect!” exclaimed Jazz, fully delighted. “Skyfire, let’s spark ya seeker, ya’re gonna make excellent bait!”

“Provided that Starscream even remembers him,” scowled Prowl.

This was an unpleasant thought, and Skyfire desperately reassured himself that it was impossible as he followed Ratchet and Jazz out of the office after thanking Optimus Prime. As they walked down the hall, Skyfire thought of something, “Ratchet, how are we going to catch Starscream? I asked Wheeljack and he said Perceptor had a plan but he did not say what it was.”

Jazz snickered, “Mech, we’re gonna shoot ‘im.”

“With a sedative dart!” snapped Ratchet before Skyfire could panic. “Jazz, Starscream cannot be hurt, he needs to remain in good condition if we want him sparked.”

“So how do we contact him?” asked Skyfire.

“You’ll see. Right now, let’s get you resting again, Skyfire,” said Ratchet sternly, adding to his hope that his life might soon begin being less boring soon, “you’re going to need it.”

* * *

Being held captive in a convoy’s trailer, and one ridiculously belonging to Optimus Prime of all mecha, was one of the most claustrophobic experiences of Skyfire’s entire existence. Since he was forbidden from flying, he was crammed inside of it in his root mode and he felt fully nauseous when he was at last allowed outside of it. To his shock when he stepped out, he was immediately surrounded by humans, humans who snapped photos of him and exclaimed in their language. Ratchet was incensed - it had been Jazz’s plan, not his, to transport Skyfire in such a horrible way, but Primus was good and apparently Skyfire would be staying a few orns in the enormous hangar which he followed the Autobots into, which was creepy with its alien devices, including human vehicles which looked somewhat like ground frame alt modes.

Some sort of meeting presided which Skyfire didn’t understand a word of. Jazz assured him that this didn’t matter - Skyfire was not there for the humans to attend to, although attend him they apparently did. He was there solely for catching the attention of the Decepticons and he wondered how the Autobots expected the plan to work, since he saw absolutely none at the meeting. There were only Autobots and humans - not a single mech with a Decepticon emblem was present. After the formal meeting ended, he had the bewildering experience of having a bunch of humans stare at him as if he were some exciting thing and he did not quite understand why, since weren’t they already used to Silverbolt, who was there too? 

Skyfire managed to escape outside, to where a sunset was glowing on the horizon, painting the flat, dry, dusty land gold, and he wished that he and Starscream could have studied the arid place. It was remarkable that such a desert could exist on what was essentially a ball of mostly water, and he itched to learn more about it, to fly high above its alien landscapes, cataloguing its vistas. Outside, there was not any sign of any Decepticons either; all that existed was the soft drone of some small animal life, the fading warmth of a very hot day, and the glorious spice of an organic world catching delicately in his olfactory sensor. Resigned to boredom as well as loneliness, he started checking his HUD data on the place, and wrote it down, figuring that he could at least take a few notes, even if they didn’t matter anymore, even though all the mecha back home who had waited for his scientific data were gone.

A distinct chinking sound drew his attention, and he looked around to see Perceptor putting something together in the shade of the building, something which fit inside of a briefcase. Curious, he moved closer as quietly as he could and got close enough to realize that it was a perplexingly long barrelled gun with a scope before Perceptor and his companion - Jazz - looked sharply around at him.

“Hey, Skyfire,” said Perceptor, screwing on the last section of the gun’s barrel.

“What’s that for?” asked Skyfire warily. He had precious little experience with guns, and the sight of one so odd being so blatantly handled in front of him was distressing.

“Starscream,” said Jazz without hesitation. “Y’don’t expect him to hold still and come quietly, d’ya mech? Percy’s our best sniper, so he’s gonna take Screamer down.”

“With a _dart,”_ Perceptor reminded him tensely. “Seekers move too fast, Skyfire - if I don’t hit him with this then we won’t be able to capture him at all. Everything hinges on me making this shot.”

“Y’won’t know where Percy’s hidin,’” said Jazz, as if this was supposed to comfort Skyfire. “Don’t ya worry about it at all, ‘kay? Percy’s rifle has a silencer on it, so Screamer won’t even hear it until it’s too late. Now, why don’t ya get some rest? We’re just gonna make Screamer snooze, that’s all, promised Ratch we won’t hurt ‘im an‘ Ah promise that to ya too.”

Skyfire looked at the empty sky above them, “How do you know the Decepticons have noticed me here?”

Jazz chuckled, “Trust me, mech, the ‘cons’ve watched this whole thing. They know ya’re here, and they’re wonderin’ where ya came from.”

Skyfire took another doubtful look at the sky; Jazz was messing with him, surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hey Skyfire, don't worry but we're gonna shoot your best friend who may or may not be super high up in the air with a tranquilizer dart but he'll be alright because he's a Decepticon, 'kay? Decepticons BOUNCE when they hit the ground! Fraggers are indestructible, haha! No, seriously - you don't believe us? I mean, we've only been at war with him for four million years."


	9. An Optimal Aft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which pretty much everyone wants to knock up Starscream and Starscream finds out something quite miraculous. Additionally, Skywarp writes his best fragging song ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly the best chapter title in the entire story so far. Heed the tags - this chapter contains interfacing. (Because what else do Thundercracker and Starscream have to do in their spare time? (Never mind Skywarp, he keeps himself entertained no matter what as you'll discover as you read on.))

“Star,” whispered Thundercracker, stirring Starscream from excellent dreams of sitting on Megatron’s throne and kicking the fragger in the helm. In the trinebond there was tension, a pensive mix of _mine/worry/love_ from Thundercracker while from the well flown Skywarp there was only the flat peace of a good recharge. Starscream checked his HUD and saw grumpily that it was far too early for any of them to actually be awake, but evidently Thundercracker hadn’t slept much, because when he onlined his optics it was to find that his dominant mate’s optics were distressingly alert. Normally, this might have been cause for worry, but they had fallen into recharge in the complete safety of their bolthole, far from Megatron’s reach. There was no reason for his dumbaft trinemate to be conscious, but that was the problem with Thundercracker - he was much too thoughtful, and he had an absolutely vast capacity to be incredibly annoying.

Skywarp could be irritating too, but in a much more innocent why-did-you-just-make-that-terrible-mess sort of way. Starscream preferred Skywarp’s brand of annoying. Skywarp’s brand of annoying could get distracted with redirections - Thundercracker’s could burn for orns, metacycles and vorns even. He was the most amazingly annoying seeker that Starscream had ever met, and he was saddled with the slagheap for life.

At least he was fun to look at, and his voice was nice, and his lap -

“Star,” repeated Thundercracker, frowning intensely.

Starscream didn’t want to know about whatever was bothering his mate. He would rather concentrate on how wonderfully warm stupid, simple, lovable Skywarp was draped on top of him like the world’s heaviest and noisiest blanket, because that nearly always made him pass right back out. But Thundercracker could see his face (he always laid so that they were face to face, Starscream theorizing because it was optimum for him glaring at Starscream all night - attempts to face Skywarp instead always ended in failure - and in Starscream being thoroughly drooled upon by Skywarp,) so he knew that he didn’t stand a chance. Thundercracker’s rate of ex-venting had increased too, signalling that he was getting annoyed, not to mention that his irritation was flickering like an ember through his electromagnetic field.

_“What,_ Thundercracker?” grumbled Starscream. “You’re going to online Warp.”

He wasn’t, actually - Skywarp could sleep through a supernova. They’d both seen it.

“What exactly would be so bad about Warp and I sparking you? Better us than Megatron,” hissed Thundercracker. “It is our _right_ as your trine -”

“Not this fragging again,” snapped Starscream. “Thundercracker, I don’t want to be a carrier! I am not carrying newsparks for you, or Warp, or anybody - certainly not Buckethelm! Primus, perhaps I should just _remove_ my gestation tank, then all you slagheaps would stop -”

Thundercracker grabbed his mouth, “You will _not!_ Starscream, maybe you’ve been too busy with this war to notice, but we’ve been an endangered species for eons now. If this war ends, we will need you to carry! Besides, don’t you think maybe it’s time that things changed, that maybe this stupid war has gone on long enough, that its end is long overdue? I’m tired at shooting at seekers who disagreed with your call to join the Decepticons when we should all be flying together!”

Starscream swatted his servo away, “So you expect me to repopulate us somehow? Seriously? No. I promised myself that I’d never carry ever and I am not going to do it, Thundercracker! You agreed when we trined!”

“I agreed _after_ we trined and only because we lived in a very different world back then,” snarled Thundercracker softly. “You were just a lesser prince who wasn’t supposed to amount to more than palace glamour and Warp and I were -” 

“Outliers, yes, and last I noted, it was_ still_ illegal to procreate with outliers,” snapped Starscream.

“Starscream!” snapped Thundercracker. “Who fragging cares anymore! _You_ make the laws in Vos anyway - you’re the fragging Winglord!”

“You’re not sparking me!” snapped Starscream back. “Touch my spark and I’ll fragging kill you!”

“You will not, you’re being stupid and you’re not listening! _We are endangered!_ Plus, I will not see Megatron overpower you and rape you -” roared Thundercracker.

_ “That’s not happening!”_ screeched Starscream back, Skywarp still contentedly unconscious. “That’s _never_ happening! I will fight him, I will kill him, I will -”

“Yeah? Well, that has worked so well up until now! _How_ many assassination attempts are you up to now, Star? Like eighty-four? You’re an idiot!” shouted Thundercracker, now sitting up and looming over Starscream like some beast about to pounce. “Let Warp and I spark you! Fragging Pit, the entire army would _rejoice,_ what are we even fighting for if we don’t have a future? Let’s change things! The Decepticons aren’t working!”

“Traitor!” accused Starscream, twisting to be sure that Thundercracker was facing the menace of his claws. Skywarp muttered something blissfully about energon goodies in his sleep.

“You’re the one who has made over nineteen hundred potential assassination plans compiled!” hissed Thundercracker, his own claws bared now, his wings shaking with his formidable fury. “I serve Vos and Cybertron! The Decepticons once had a message that we believed in, Star, that I believed in just as much as you - but where’s that message gone? Where are the masses who once believed in us too, who cheered our designations and supported us because they thought that we could save them? We’re a dying people and if we don’t start making an effort, actually doing _something_ to save ourselves, we’re going to go extinct!”

“You are not sparking me!” insisted Starscream angrily.

Thundercracker growled just as madly back, then exvented violently, “Not against your will. I am _not_ Megatron - but Megatron _will_ take away your choice, Starscream. Let _us_ spark you so that he can’t! Wouldn’t you rather be stuck with creations born of our love than a walking reminder that you were raped, your power stolen? There’s no way that _thing_ will fly!”

“You are _not -”_ Starscream furiously echoed himself, only to grunt as Thundercracker cut him off with a kiss, then proceeded to make Starscream’s predicament of being stuck beneath Skywarp even worse by possessively laying on top of him too. The biggest member of their trine growled fretfully to himself, Starscream silently sensing an end to the aggravating conversation. Now feeling crushed instead of comforted, Starscream waited, hoping that Thundercracker would fall into recharge, but the brilliant flare of anxiety from his blue mate’s side of the bond did not abate. Within a groon, Starscream knew that his mate would outlast him, and he wondered why Thundercracker insisted on keeping watch when he knew perfectly well that they were safe where they were. 

Despite his discomfort, Starscream found himself waking at his usual joor, still crammed beneath both of his trinemates, Thundercracker an over-protectively nervous lump atop him. _Exhaustion_ radiated in his field, causing Starscream to grump, “TC, didn’t you recharge at all?”

“No,” growled Thundercracker, equally grumpy. “I cannot stand by while Megatron violates you in front of us. I will kill him, and should he spark you, I will kill his revolting offspring too.”

“Just because it wouldn’t be Seeker? TC, I never saw you as a sparkling killer -” grumbled Starscream, unable to believe him.

“Because it would take our power away, and our only chance at safety,” corrected Thundercracker. He shifted his weight and pressed his helm against Starscream’s, “I want you to stay here this orn, Star. I don’t want that disgusting tankformer to even have the slightest chance of seeing you, let alone touching you!”

“TC, I have _work_ to do, including a war meeting -” hissed Starscream.

“I don’t care, this war is useless and you’re bringing Predaking here to kill flight frames who we should be friends with,” hissed Thundercracker. “Predaking has some of the most dangerous ‘cons there are next to the DJD, do you really want that threat hovering over you?”

“TC, the Predacons are on the same side of the war as us -” growled Starscream and they both jumped horribly at the loud onlining of their black mate, Skywarp coming awake typically ridiculously with a series of happy sounds of his own weird little invention. Skywarp stretched his wings, kicking his pedes out luxuriously before (as he did every morning,) belatedly noticing that he still had Starscream imprisoned underneath of him. Delighted despite ages of doing this very same thing, he started nuzzling up, noticed Thundercracker, and nuzzled him too, easily the happiest seeker in the world. The glitch was barely awake and already purring as if he had nothing to expect from his day but happiness.

“Good morning!” trilled Skywarp sleepily, the proverbial darling of Primus Himself. “What’s going on this orn?”

“War meeting at tenth joor,” blurted Starscream hurriedly before Thundercracker could speak.

“Yes, and _afterwards_ Starscream was going to work on strategy in here, _right,_ Starscream?” growled Thundercracker.

Skywarp didn’t notice Thundercracker’s aggression. He was blessed, that way. “Ooh! Star, could we have trine time? It’s been ages since we had trine time.”

“Skywarp, we fragged the other night,” grunted Starscream.

“That’s different,” whined Skywarp, defining, “trine time is cuddling and grooming and talking, and going for long romantic flights together.”

Starscream wondered what there was to talk about, and when the last time a flight of theirs had been remotely romantic, but before he could speak Thundercracker interjected, “Yeah, Star. Talking - like talks about _our_ litter and how they’ll keep fragging Megatron from sparking you.”

“Thundercracker you relentless idiot!” seethed Starscream. “Nobody is sparking me and we are not having a litter!”

“I want a litter,” mused Skywarp softly and suddenly, “can you image how cute they’d be? They’d be so little and sweet -”

“- and delicate and useless; NO. I will not carry your puny frame parasites! We have been through this - _you agreed!”_ snarled Starscream.

“But Star -” protested Skywarp, _disappointment/love/sad_ in his field.

“But nothing! You _agreed!_ End of discussion! I never want to carry, so I am _never_ carrying!” shrieked Starscream, pleased as both of his mates winced, although Thundercracker went straight back to glaring, Skywarp looking at him lostly as if he had pilfered a favourite toy from him. Starscream scowled at him, reminding him, “Skywarp, you don’t even know what a fragging seekerling _looks_ _like._ They are awful and terrible and we have far more than enough to worry about without them!”

He threaded his fingers with Skywarp’s, demanding, “Flight deck, Warp, please.”

Thundercracker absolutely glowered at him, “We will be continuing this conversation.”

“No, we won’t! I have said ‘no,’ Thundercracker, and that is final!” snapped Starscream. “I am Winglord, I lead this trine!”

“You may be Winglord, but that doesn’t necessarily make you the leader of Warp and I,” hissed Thundercracker. “You’re making a decision which doesn’t make sense, Star -"

“How does it not make sense? Haven’t we been over this? Megatron would crush them under his ugly grounder pedes!” cried Starscream.

“Yet that’s not the reason that you’re rejecting the idea, you just flat out don’t want them,” growled Thundercracker.

“Don’t I have that right?” snapped Starscream.

“Considering that we’re an endangered species? Not anymore, and once this war is fragging over, we should let our mecha create - we _need_ seekerlings, Star, for the continuation of our species. In the meantime, nobody would fault our trine for creating - this litter would secure our future, our nation (such as it is,) and our legacy, plus can’t you imagine how much they would boost morale? Even the fragging ground frames would love them,” argued Thundercracker.

“I doubt that,” hissed Starscream, squeezing Skywarp’s servo insistently, trying to get the black seeker to teleport him away from their annoying mate, but Skywarp’s field was flaring hopeful, the silly fragger clearly enchanted with what Thundercracker was saying.

“Warp’s onboard with it, aren’t you, Warp?” asked Thundercracker rather slyly.

“I want to hold a seekerling,” ex-vented Skywarp, adding sadly, “it doesn’t have to be mine. I just want to hold one.”

“But Skywarp, love,” said Thundercracker in his most annoying tone which always delivered information which Starscream hated hearing, “we have our very own fertile carrier-mate, which means that we _can_ have our own seekerlings and you could cuddle them _all the time._ You could play with them too, and we could teach them important stuff, like how to be good little seekers.”

Skywarp melted like an ingot of lead and he suddenly hugged Starscream, sighing, “Oh, that would be amazing.”

“It would_ not_ be amazing! They would be time stealers, and they’d scream and drool -” protested Starscream.

“You already do all of those things, Star,” smirked Thundercracker and Starscream ached to punch him, but Skywarp held him lovingly captive.

“I don’t drool as much as Skywarp does,” muttered Starscream resentfully. He twitched as Thundercracker hugged them both, and he shivered happily despite himself at their adoration which they drowned him in, all three of their sparks resonating joyously together. Frag, he loved being trined - he couldn’t really remember what it was like not being trined anymore, but it had been pure slag compared to this. He checked the time and squeaked as Thundercracker kissed him passionately, having apparently discerned the same information as him, that there was still a joor before anyone really expected to see them. Starscream purred as Skywarp stole Thundercracker, the arousal between the three of them flaring hot, especially as Skywarp snuck a servo between his legs while Thundercracker kept kissing the black seeker, petting Starscream’s cockpit. 

“Hng,” grunted Starscream as Skywarp rubbed sensuously at his valve cover, teasing it open. A _click_ as it retracted momentarily distracted both of them, then Skywarp slipped two very skilled digits inside of him, and Starscream reached for Thundercracker’s interface array, barely touching the already searing plating before his mate’s spike was pushing hungrily into his hand. He stroked it, Skywarp letting him sit up slightly so that he could admire the thing, and the shape of Skywarp’s which had just informatively nudged his leg, clear prefluid dribbling from its tip declaring how ready it already was. Both spikes were such beautiful sights as they swayed under their weight, smearing liquid across Starscream’s thigh as well as his ignored spike cover, which didn’t even react.

Starscream squirmed as Skywarp scissored his fingers to gently loosen his valve and he shivered at the sight of Thundercracker pulling free of him to lap at it, then suck Skywarp’s spike, purring as he let go, “Mmm, don’t waste, Warp, let’s get that into Star. Let’s take him as trine.”

Their sparks leapt and they watched as Thundercracker licked them both again, then guided the blunt tip of Skywarp’s excellent spike to Starscream’s entrance. Starscream kicked a pede at its nudging, then stiffened in ecstasy as Skywarp pushed it halfway in, panting out a blissed squeak as Skywarp slowly hilted himself, then abruptly pushed Starscream onto his front to give himself better leverage, servos clenching his hips as he began to sensuously pull out, then buck forwards again. 

“How is he this morning?” asked Thundercracker lustfully, caressing his spike as he edged around to Starscream’s helm and offered it to him. Starscream was too busy supporting his weight with his arms so he just admired it for a dazed klik before licking it distractedly, at which Thundercracker caressed his helm in encouragement.

“Fragging t-tight,” panted Skywarp as Thundercracker immediately toyed with Starscream’s nearest wing to arouse him more.

“C’mon, Star, open up and relax, I want in,” said Thundercracker. Starscream was too overwhelmed by Skywarp’s spike filling him to attempt a reply, moaning despite himself at the wonderful push-pull, his valve clenching possessively around the member it loved, which fit him so well. Skywarp picked up his pace, fragging him faster then finally harder, Starscream quite forgetting about Thundercracker’s spike, too busy trying to push his aft further into Skywarp’s lap to better facilitate his thrusting. Valve absolutely bared to his mate, he gasped happily as Skywarp hugged his waist, fragging him so exquisitely until abruptly pulling out, much to Starscream’s enormous dissatisfaction.

It didn’t last long. Skywarp sat beside him, pulled him back into his lap, then laid down, yanking Starscream with him and using his pedes to pull Starscream’s legs apart again, offering him to Thundercracker who knelt between their legs. Thundercracker’s spike kissed the entrance of Starscream’s valve, then pushed slowly inside with Skywarp’s, Thundercracker murmuring praisingly about how tight Starscream always was for them, even after all the centravorns. Then they started to frag him and Starscream forgot everything but them, entranced as the slight pain of the stretching faded into pure glorious sensation as the two spikes thrust together inside of him, rubbing every one of his nodes as they stuffed him full, tapping the seal of his gestation tank. It was too much, too fantastic, and Starscream cried out, charge crashing through him as his valve squeezed hard on its spikes, imprisoning them, a second overload hitting him a half klik later as he felt the orgasmic searing flood of transfluids from both of his mates flood his gestation tank.

He heard spluttered swearing, which he vaguely realized was his own, and deep, satisfied chuckles from Thundercracker while Skywarp simply peppered the back of his neck in spent kisses. It was a full groon before any of them could move, Thundercracker getting up first after carefully shutting Starscream’s valve cover on their transfluid. He helped Starscream up and they reluctantly set about cleaning themselves, the conversation about seekerlings seeming mercifully forgotten as Thundercracker whispered dirtily about what he wanted to do to them that night, Skywarp enthralled. 

Mercifully, his mates stopped talking about interface the second that they materialized onto the flight deck and Starscream happily concentrated on his work, confident that Thundercracker had temporarily forgotten about his dumb determination to create mini-Thundercrackers with him. Starscream even had a good morning, up until the war meeting, and even that was not so bad until the other resident creation-obsessed idiot spoke up just as they agreed on how the operation to bring in Predaking would go.

“Starscream, you will report to Hook in an orn at fifteenth joor,” demanded Megatron. “I need to know how close to ready for sparking you are.”

Starscream’s plating burned with humiliation as Onslaught and Motormaster snickered, Soundwave annoyingly impassive while behind him low growls arose from his mates. He glared at Soundwave, whom he had hoped would derail this idiocy, and somehow he managed to choke out, “Of-of course, my Lord.”

Onslaught and Motormaster laughed harder, apparently absolutely tickled by Starscream’s plight as Megatron’s potential sparkling source. The only mecha in the war room who showed any inkling of sympathy apart from Starscream’s trine were Blitzwing and Astrotrain, both of whom seemed subtly revolted.

“Dismissed,” declared Megatron and Starscream disgraced himself by hurrying from the room, unable to look at the slagheap much longer. Hearing his mates behind him and unimpressed by their alternative plan, he broke into a run, at which he nearly collided with Buzzsaw. The casseticon squawked in outrage and his fluttering in Starscream’s face gave Starscream’s trine a chance to catch up with him, Thundercracker grabbing him as behind them approached another presence. 

“Buzzsaw: report,” ordered Soundwave, stopping beside Starscream as his casseticon beelined for his unoccupied shoulder. Ratbat sat on Soundwave’s other shoulder as he had through the whole war meeting, watching the proceedings in grumpy silence, forever proving why he was Starscream’s least favourite of Soundwave’s minions.

“Master, the Autobot meeting with their human allies went as expected and there is no change to their relationship, other than that the Autobots have taken on more human pets,” said Buzzsaw, glaring at Starscream. “More interestingly, Master, I saw the shuttle.”

“Silverbolt or Sky Lynx?” grumped Starscream, wishing that Thundercracker would stop holding him.

“The one whom Ravage reported as deactivated,” said Buzzsaw with another glare. Usually, Starscream would have flipped off the wretch at his tone, but what he had said hit Starscream’s spark like a bolt of lightning and he sagged against Thundercracker, his processor racing, especially as Buzzsaw declared, “It appeared injured, but very much alive on its pedes. It was not sporting the Autobrand anywhere that I could see.”

_ Not sporting the Autobrand._ Neutral. Skyfire was_ neutral_ \- he was _alive_ and he had not picked a side yet. Starscream had to try very hard not to whine, instead interjecting, “Ah, Soundwave, allow me to investigate this, won’t you? I feel like I need a good fly… to gather my thoughts.”

Thundercracker made to speak, Starscream spitting out, “A fly _alone,_ of course. I find I have…_ much_ to think about.”

“Very well,” agreed Soundwave tonelessly. “Inform me of your findings.”

“Yes, yes of course,” said Starscream, wrenching free of Thundercracker, his processor spinning with the implications, the constricting of his spark making him feel distinctly ill. _Skyfire was alive! ALIVE!_ How could it be? How had he missed such a fact? How could he have ever have - Starscream gritted his denta as he leapt into the lift, guarding his thoughts, conscious that he didn’t want Soundwave privy to them when it was bad enough that he could never completely hide them from his mates, his trine right on his heels despite his efforts to be faster than them. Skyfire was alive, and Starscream was going to find out how, why, and he was going to do all he fragging could to drag the shuttle back to the Nemesis. There was no way in slag that he was letting the Functionist slagheap Autobots keep his scientific partner - with Skyfire by his side, maybe he’d finally be able to work out a few of his conundrums.

But _how_ was he alive?!

_ Star, talk to us, don’t do this,_ growled Thundercracker, right on his heels again as he stalked across the flight deck.

_I thought we were going to cuddle,_ whined Skywarp mournfully.

“Stay here,” snapped Starscream, “I need to do this by myself.”

_Star, if that shuttle is alive then you’re not going anywhere near it without us,_ hissed Thundercracker as Starscream tried and failed to keep them from following him into the lift. _You know what the last thing that thing remembers was, don’t you? You refusing to be its conjunx endura! The last forty-eight thousand centravorns don’t even exist for it! The last thing it knew, you were in a serious relationship with it, but as far as you’re concerned, it has been dead for all that time!_

“I_ know,_ TC! You think that I don’t?” cried Starscream as Soundwave pinged him a data packet regarding the Autobot meeting. “And please, Skyfire is a _he!_ Like Astrotrain and Blast Off!”

“Starscream, we’re coming with you -” hissed Thundercracker.

“If you _insist_ you can escort me to three hundred hics shy of Skyfire’s position,” snarled Starscream. “Please! Let me talk to him alone first, then you can come meet him! Fine? You’ll be close enough to warp to me if I need you.”

His trinemates shifted angrily, then Thundercracker conceded. He didn’t say it aloud, declaring it softly but grumpily in the trinebond, and relieved, Starscream stepped out of the lift, then jumped into the sky before he had even properly reached the end of the platform, still questioning whether his trine would let him approach Skyfire alone. The weather conditions were horrible, the tossing Atlantic below as grey as Megatron’s hideous armour and Starscream was grateful for the distraction that the tumultuous turbulence provided to them. The stormy air was so choppy that as soon as Starscream saw a smudge of land in the distance he was planning on making landing, and_ relief_ flashed profound across their bond as they finally alighted on the bald stone peak of a mountain almost a joor later. 

“This is slag weather,” complained Skywarp.

“At least we know that Megatron can’t follow,” grumbled Thundercracker as sopping, frigid wind shook the nearby trees. Despite the cold, Starscream was running hot from the exertion of flight in the storm and he barely felt the chill, flaring his plating out to expel excess heat to cool his internals. His mates were doing the same, shifting in agitation on top of the uneven mountaintop, Starscream’s barometric data declaring that the storm was only going to get worse. It was hurricane season in their area, explaining the poor weather, but Starscream felt little concern over that, concentrating on drinking down a cube of energon so that he could take off again as soon as his protoform began to feel the cold. It was nothing like space flight - where one could fly as fast as they wanted forever and an age - temperature fluctuations and weather on Earth made flying there more artful, like how flying on Cybertron had been.

“Shuttle isn’t anywhere near here, is he?” asked Skywarp, his hope that Skyfire was anywhere else in the world a shout in their bond.

“No, in the southern desert - Arizona,” said Starscream.

“Oh! That’s where that big aft canyon thing is - we should go play! Like, afterwards, can we? It’d be so fun! Please, can we?” exclaimed Skywarp eagerly.

It was almost impossible to say no to something so harmless, but Starscream managed, “We’re supposed to be _hiding_ from the humans, Warp.”

“So? Let’s go to a part of the canyon with less humans,” chirped Skywarp, far more endearing in his logic than Shockwave ever was. “We could go at night! That’d be more challenging anyway!”

“Maybe,” managed Starscream against the formidable raw power of Skywarp’s pleading optics. Feeling better, he drank the last of his ration and subspaced his cube. “Let’s go.”

His mates finished their own rations and they launched back into the air, picking a high altitude flight path to avoid the humans below as they flew. For a while, nobody said anything, then inevitably Skywarp started to hum his little nonsense songs over their bond, tormenting Starscream with his always freshly invented music. It made Starscream eternally grateful for their bond, which kept them from needing to communicate over comm which could be hacked. Skywarp could prattle his latest songs as much as he wanted and only Starscream and Thundercracker needed to suffer them.

_Star, what do you hope to gain by meeting with Skyfire?_ Thundercracker managed to interject between Skywarp’s newest music singles.

_Hopefully I get my lab partner back,_ groused Starscream._ I’m not leaving him to the Autobots; that would be obscene._

_So long as he can understand that you’re_ our _mate,_ huffed Thundercracker.

_He’s a scientist, Thundercracker, he’s not stupid,_ griped Starscream, and coincidentally, Skywarp’s next song was about smart mecha who were slag at relationships. Starscream grumpily wanted to demand what exactly it was that Skywarp believed himself superior at, only to remind himself that Skywarp had been joyfully trined with him and Thundercracker for centravorns upon centravorns. Still, he was relieved when Skywarp started singing about spikes instead, even if it made Thundercracker wheeze extremely loudly through his vents and stutter in the air. Below, the scenery changed from lush green mountains to lush green flatness, then yellow flatness, and finally, at last, the desert, the stormy coast left very far behind them to a symphony of Skywarp describing (in song form,) every aft that he had ever encountered.

_Hey, um, look, we’ve just hit the three hundred hic mark, so I’m gonna break off,_ said Starscream.

_\- AND OPTIMUS’ AFT WAS OPTIMALLY GIGANTIC - _sang Skywarp, not even remotely hearing him. _IT BLOCKED OUT THE SUN AND - _

Starscream worried that Skywarp’s song was going to send the gasping Thundercracker nose diving into the desert at any moment, but in retrospect it seemed a shame to interrupt Skywarp’s aft song so he let them keep flying until it was over, then he blurted, _ALRIGHT, I am breaking off now! You two wait here, I will call you if I need you!_

_What?_ squeaked Skywarp, instantly sounding hurt._ No! Star, I wanna meet the shuttle!_

Starscream knew for a fact that Skywarp was attempting to use his cuteness powers against him. _NO. You two wait here - frag or something._

_Ew, no, we’ll get sand in all of our transformation seams,_ hissed Thundercracker sensibly.

_Then catalogue different species of cacti for me,_ invented Starscream.

Thundercracker’s newborn protest was interrupted by Skywarp’s random squeal of excitement, which made Starscream suspect that Rumble and Frenzy would be finding a hoard of cacti in their berth the next time the poor fraggers attempted to lay down for a recharge.

_There’s supposed to be this red dirt called ochre which you can turn into paint here too,_ enticed Starscream.

_Dirt paint?! I want dirt paint! C’mon TC, bye, Star!_ squealed Skywarp, bolting for the ground.

_That was clever,_ growled Thundercracker, transforming and hovering with crossed arms, glaring murder at Starscream, _but I’m going to make sure that his dirt-paint-and-cactus quest takes us to your coordinates with the shuttle eventually._

“Fine, Thundercracker,” said Starscream without transforming likewise. “Like I said, I will ping you if I need you.”

“Don’t you dare get captured by the Autobots, you know that this could be a trap,” hissed Thundercracker._  
_

“Heh, I’m too fast for them, so even if it is a trap, there’s no way that they’ll catch me, TC,” said Starscream. He flinched as Thundercracker flew closer, then relaxed as his mate hugged him around his fuselage, Starscream whispering, “I promise, TC.”

Thundercracker pressed a kiss to his nosecone and dropped away, “I had better rejoin Skywarp before he uproots every cactus in sight. Bye, Star.”

“Bye, TC,” said Starscream, and feeling distinctly weird about leaving them, like perhaps staying with them would have been better, he flew away, finally allowing himself to be excited that Skyfire was alive, that his amica hadn’t died. Soon, he would have his proof that Skyfire’s spark still pulsed and he would get to return to his trine with his best friend in tow. He would have someone to chat science with who was not Shockwave, someone helpful who understood complicated terminology. There was no reason that Skyfire would need to fight - he could be useful just helping out with science stuff. They would make discoveries, sip engex together (Skyfire would help Mixmaster make even better engex,) and Skyfire would help them win the war.

Starscream’s spark warmed; soon, he would have his best friend again.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admiral Ackbar says "IT'S A TRAP!"


	10. How to Catch Your Seeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After four million years, Starscream and Skyfire are finally reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos, everyone! I'll try to get to replying to them soon; I hope you enjoy this installment.
> 
> Rated 'J' for Jazz!

Jazz flapped a nonchalant servo at Skyfire. “Go on, then, go fer a walk!”

“Starscream’s just going to somehow magically find me? How do you even know that he’s going to come?” groused Skyfire, unimpressed so far by Autobot tactics.

“’cus it’s ya, ain’t it? This’ll prove y’mecha were amica,” beamed Jazz. “He’ll come do further reconnaissance ‘cus Ah guarantee we were spied upon and since ya and ‘im were _such_ a big deal as ya say, he’ll come alone. Don’t worry, we’ll be watching ya.”

Skyfire looked nervously at Perceptor, who was adjusting the spotting scope on his sniper rifle again and reluctantly started walking to Jazz’s encouraging chirps of, “That’s it! Nothin’ ta fear! Ya’ll be right fine!”

“Don’t you _dare_ overdo it, Skyfire,” snarled Ratchet, shaking a datapad at him, his scowl giving further incentive to keep moving. “I don’t care if Unicron Himself is out to get you, don’t you dare run or fly. You’re not ready yet.”

“This is the dumbest plan ever,” grumbled Skyfire, as soon as he knew that he was beyond their earshot. He ex-vented, thinking that he could at least enjoy the dry desert scenery, the way that the strange spiny plants around his pedes looked, the ground crunching into dust under his weight. Slowly, his mind focused in on his pleasant surroundings and after a few groons of wandering, he almost forgot entirely at times why he was walking, but the memory of how Starscream would have been interested in each new discovery always dragged him back to the reality of what he was doing. The Earth desert was full of curious things to examine though, so Skyfire was feeling very cheerful several joors later, despite no sign of any Decepticons, his seeker or any of the others. Needing a break, he sat carefully in an open sandy spot, the hot substrate feeling itchy yet pleasant on his aft, and took out a datapad, intending to jot down some records of the things that he had seen.

He was halfway through doing this when he looked up from his datapad, feeling peculiarly as if there was someone behind him. Guessing that it was Perceptor and Jazz, that they had given up on the hunt, he turned around and immediately felt his spark ache as he saw what was standing motionlessly, silently watching him from an outcrop behind him. 

Despite the trials of war, Starscream looked as glorious as ever, his tricoloured markings still vivid with his vitality, the purple Decepticon markings somehow enhancing his plating. His graphite face and crimson optics were as stunning as always. Despite being somehow a winglord and a Decepticon commander - one of the highest ranking Decepticons ever born - Starscream still looked small to Skyfire, and vulnerable, making him suddenly very conscious that Starscream’s presence meant that he had just successfully lured his best friend into a very cruel trap. He opened his mouth, intending to say something, but he realized that he had not figured out anything, because he had not truly believed that Starscream would really come, that he was alive at all. At his attention the beautiful seeker’s wings had lifted and his pretty plating had fluffed - frame language which Skyfire knew intimately meant that his seeker was glad to see him.

“Hey, Star,” managed Skyfire and with one of his adorable trills which Skyfire had always savoured hearing, Starscream hurried up to him, Skyfire stooping belatedly to hug him, his spark swelling in relief as he felt how unchanged the little seeker was. The same sharp claws hooked neatly into his plating so that he could hold him and he felt terrible as Starscream, despite everything which the Autobots had said about him, despite their awful record of his war crimes, sobbed into his neck. Skyfire shuttered his optics, praying that they’d be given a few kliks. “I’m so sorry, Star.”

“I couldn’t find you! I had to abandon you! I tried so hard!” whimpered Starscream. “I had to return to Cybertron without you, Skyfire, do you have _any_ inkling of how awful that felt?!”

“No, but I’m getting it now; I’m so, so sorry, Starscream, I’m glad that I am alive but it has been so terrible learning about all that I have missed,” grimaced Skyfire.

“How did you survive? What happened?” asked Starscream, still clinging to his neck, Skyfire stroking his trembling wings soulfully, trying to calm him.

“I apparently crashed into a crevasse,” grimaced Skyfire. “Snapped my one wing clean off and got myself lodged there; my medic Ratchet says that I won’t be flying for a long while, and that I have spark damage from all that time being frozen solid which is still healing. Oh, Star, I can’t imagine how it has been for you, I’m so sorry. How are the Decepticons?"

Starscream clung harder to him, as if he didn’t want to think about that, “You’ll see, alright? You have to come home with me, if you can’t fly then I’ll get Astrotrain to carry you. I need you to be my partner again, Skyfire, I’m stumped on some science stuff, and I don’t get nearly enough time to work on it since I’m Air Commander.”

Skyfire sighed; he should have expected that Starscream would want him to return with him, to choose his side. “Do they treat you okay?”

“Megatron’s an aft and the rest of the Decepticon grounders are a bit unruly at times but the Decepticons are fine,” said Starscream, leaning back in his arms to inspect his face, smiling so beautifully, relief in every line of the seeker’s exquisite frame. “We do just fine, I don’t know what the Autobots have said about us, but we’re in good shape, except for fuel. That’s one of the projects I need help with - because Megatron was stupid and crashed our fragging flagship into the slagging ocean, we’ve been a bit short on energon, so we’ve been having to get it through raiding. I’m trying to find a way so that we don’t have to, and so that maybe we can get the war to end.”

“What is it about the Decepticons which made you join up?” asked Skyfire.

Starscream beamed at him, “The Decepticons are for peace, Skyfire! I bet the slagging Autobots have given you a wrong impression of our name - we’re not called Decepticons because we’re _deceptive,_ we’re called that because in the beginning one of our early slogans was _you are being deceived,_ because everyone was being deceived back then, by the whole horrible functionist movement and the senate. You remember.”

“I do,” agreed Skyfire, and Starscream’s grin widened, the seeker purring so happily because they were together.

“I knew you would,” chirped Starscream, hugging him again affectionately. “You haven’t been messed up by this slagging war, you’re still perfect.” The seeker’s smile fell, “I… have you heard? About me?”

“Being winglord?” guessed Skyfire. “I heard about that, Star, that’s absolutely tremendous, I didn’t even know that you were royalty.”

Starscream snickered, “I thought you did? Maybe the centravorns are corrupting my memory. I was a lesser prince until pretty much everyone in the palace died - it was hit by a missile. I was the only prince left, so naturally I took the crown.”

Skyfire froze, horrified, “Your family… were killed by a missile?”

“Yeah,” said Starscream, seeming weirdly unbothered until Skyfire remembered exactly how much time had passed for the seeker. The massacre of Starscream’s entire family was very, _very_ old news for Starscream - he had probably gotten over any last inkling of grief an extremely long time ago. The seeker confirmed it, “I finished mourning ages ago, Skyfire, it’s in the past. A lot of slag is in the past - except you. Okay, guess again!”

“You trined,” grinned Skyfire.

“Yeah,” said Starscream rather shyly. “Thundercracker and Skywarp, I love them a lot. They’re both outliers, Thundercracker generates sonic booms which makes your flight instruments go haywire and Skywarp - well, his designation is Sky_warp_; he teleports. Thundercracker’s a handsome grump and Skywarp is the silliest glitch you’ll ever meet, right now he’s collecting cacti, those spiny plants.” Starscream pointed at one informatively, adding vindictively and somewhat proudly, “He likes pulling pranks. He’s probably driving Thundercracker mad.”

“They sound wonderful, Star,” said Skyfire earnestly. “I was so grateful when I heard that you were still alive, I’m really glad that you found a trine after all.”

“Yeah, they’re good mecha,” said Starscream, slipping out of his arms and stretching. “C’mon, let’s go - Hook can treat you just as well as Ratchet can and Blast Off’s a bit rough, but he is another shuttle, so you’ll be able to talk about shuttle stuff with him, plus there’s Astrotrain, although he’s actually a triple changer - freak of nature. Useful freak of nature though.”

“Isn’t that like the only lucky result of two very different frame types mixing?” asked Skyfire, his spark panging as the seeker’s small servo gripped his.

“Yeah, otherwise mech’s born an _actual_ freak and has no alt mode because the alt modes of his ancestors conflicted too much to mix,” snorted Starscream, beginning to lead him. “We have two triple changers here right now, Astrotrain and Blitzwing; both are under my command, thank Primus, but - _SKYFIRE, GET DOWN!”_

Skyfire dropped obediently, startled by his friend’s snap of pure authority as the seeker flared his wings, suddenly growling, his null rays primed as he snarled, “Looks like some Autoglitch decided to follow you on your walk after all, I thought that this smelled like a trap. Stay here while I deal with it, I’ll ping Skywarp and Thundercracker in a klik once I know the enemy positions -” 

Skyfire watched as Starscream scrabbled back on top of the outcropping where he had previously been standing, feeling horrified, certain that his friend was going to kill his acquaintances and petrified that his acquaintances were going to kill his friend. Starscream crouched, wings low, face determined, and whipped around, firing as suddenly there was a loud, roaring peel of an engine. Jazz charged across the desert, a hic distant and Starscream fired his thrusters, hissing, “Fragging _Jazz!_ I knew he’d have his filthy servos in this! Skyfire, stay there and don’t get up!”

“What are you going to do?” yelped Skyfire.

“Null his aft,” barked Starscream back and Skyfire barely had time to think that this didn’t sound so terrible when he saw Perceptor stand up from an opposite outcropping. He made to warn Starscream but before he could issue a sound, he heard a hissing sound, then suddenly Starscream was dropping out of the sky, crashing in a spray of sand and cactus bits. Skyfire ran for him then was forced to walk as his tired spark got better of him, Skyfire reluctantly rushing only as fast as his frame could manage to his friend’s side. Panicking when he didn’t see his amica moving, he dropped to his knees, gasping Starscream’s designation, certain that he would find a blaster mark piercing his friend’s spark casing and instead found a bright red dart buried in the primary energon line of his neck.

Skyfire almost fainted from relief. He scooped Starscream into his arms and hugged the stone unconscious seeker tight, bawling, “I’m so sorry but it’s for your own good, Star! I need you to stop this war!”

Starscream only grunted, and to Skyfire’s eternal guilt, shifted closer to his frame as if unconsciously seeking comfort, adorably loyal. Skyfire heard Jazz speed up, a cloud of dust proceeding the mech as he leapt out of his alt mode, crowing, “Got ‘im! How is he, Skyfire? Any damage from hittin’ the dirt?”

Skyfire had completely forgotten to check for that. He held Starscream at arm’s length, to his relief seeing only a bent wingtip and some scuffs which would quickly heal. He hugged the seeker tight again, the sedated mech squirming close again, sighing sweetly in his recharge. Realizing Jazz was waiting, and staring, Skyfire shakily confirmed, “Um, he’s fine.”

“Then let’s get him home, mech,” beamed Jazz. “He’s got a date with Ratchet, and then with his trine.”

“Who are nearby, by the way,” grimaced Skyfire, glancing around anxiously, fully expecting to see them tear overhead with guns blazing. “I don’t know if he pinged them or not.”

“Let’s not find out; I’ve already pinged Prime - hey, Percy! Great shot, mech! Got ‘im right in the throat!” exclaimed Jazz cheerily as Perceptor ran up. 

“Couldn’t have done it without Skyfire distracting him,” grinned the scientist/sniper. “I don’t think I’ve ever managed to do more than clip his wing before. How is he? Is he alright? I need to give him a stronger sedative, that one won’t last.”

It was bewildering to Skyfire how fast the Autobots moved once Starscream was captured. Within a bream Optimus Prime was there with his trailer, which was in flatbed mode so that both Skyfire and Starscream could be transported on it. Very quickly they were charging back across the desert to the hangar, where a grumpy Ratchet received them, demanding, “Alright, let’s get him into the transport and back to the Ark, I need my proper medical bay for this. I’ll examine him for injuries on the way.”

“What the frag is this, Ratchet?” demanded Sideswipe, pushing to the front of the crowd of staring Autobots. Recalling everything that the grounder had said about seekers, Skyfire protectively hugged his amica tighter, wrapping an arm around Starscream’s wings to hide them. There were gasps and his own wings twitched higher in unease as there were angry murmurs.

_“This_ is none of you business, Sideswipe,” snarled Ratchet, stepping sharply between Skyfire and Sideswipe. “Skyfire proposed some biological warfare which you will _not_ be interfering with.”

In Skyfire’s arms, Starscream whimpered and squirmed closer, so entirely helpless that Skyfire couldn’t help whispering a reassurance even though he knew perfectly well that his amica couldn’t hear him.

“The _Pit_ is going on?!” growled Cliffjumper.

“Ratchet, that’s fragging _Starscream,”_ Sideswipe seemed to agree. 

“I know exactly who my patients are, Sideswipe,” snapped Ratchet, “and should you threaten them, I will strip the plating off of your aft and weld you to Sunstreaker. No touching the seeker.”  
Skyfire couldn’t really comprehend this proposed punishment, but it shut up Sideswipe in a hurry. Unfortunately, Cliffjumper was a lot stupider.

“The new shuttle is a ‘con lover!” hissed Cliffjumper. “I bet next he’ll be making his vows to Buckethelm and -”

“Cliffjumper!” rumbled Optimus Prime, and the peon known as Cliffjumper became suddenly very engaged with his energon ration.

What followed was one of the very worst experiences of Skyfire’s existence - being crammed into a gigantic human aerial transport which they called an airplane with Starscream, Ratchet and the rest of the Autobots who had attended the meeting. Over a joor passed before they finally landed and Skyfire was ready to purge long before that. He was achingly grateful to sit on the Prime’s flatbed again instead of flying anymore, Starscream snuggled in his lap under a thermal blanket, his servos not even in stasis cuffs.

Other Autobots had vehemently protested this, but Ratchet had snapped at them, informing them all that Starscream was currently absolutely incapable of onlining on his own, which made Skyfire feel even worse about being guilty for his capture. Even though Starscream was passed out, he did what he could to comfort his amica, stroking his helm while he recharged fitfully, the seeker occasionally making small soft whimpers in his sleep which sounded like the designations of his trinemates. 

Skyfire stubbornly carried Starscream into Ratchet’s lab and laid him on the berth which Ratchet directed him to in a private room. Ratchet let him watch while he hooked him up to monitoring equipment and treated Starscream’s injuries, but he shooed him out (along with everyone else watching, some muttering resentfully about Starscream getting medical care, about him even being allowed inside the Ark at all,) when it came time to do his actual examination. Skyfire deeply appreciated this - the other mecha had started making him nervous, making him feel like they were going to attack his friend.

“Skyfire, you can sit here, Ratchet wants us to examine you to make sure you didn’t overextend,” said First Aid, proffering a berth to him as Ambulon chased everyone but Wheeljack, Perceptor and Jazz out, even the Prime leaving. Skyfire sat obediently, but he didn’t really pay attention as he was examined, too busy watching the firmly shut door of the room where Starscream was. Skyfire was quickly declared fine - although he was advised to rest - and everyone was silent while they waited, Skyfire sitting taller when Ratchet finally stepped out the private room, still drying his servos with a rag.

“How’s Star?!” blurted Skyfire, sliding off of his berth and hurrying up to the medic, who gave him a look suggesting that he had a scraplet sitting on his helm.

Ratchet frowned and averted his gaze, “Starscream is malnourished, as expected - I doubt that there is a single flight frame in this war who isn’t.”

“So?” asked Skyfire anxiously, swallowing this hard pill.

“His systems show signs of strain from insufficient fuel,” noted Ratchet. “His frame is strong, because he likely had a good foundation in his formative vorns, but his line energon is of exceptionally poor quality.”

“Can you fix that?” asked Skyfire, wringing his servos now.

“I’ve already begun to; I just put him on a nutrient drip,” said Ratchet, “as well as an energon drip - his frame needs to be at perfect fuel levels for him to be sparked. Speaking of that, it looks like we caught him at the right time, because I think I may have discovered why he hasn’t created before.”

Skyfire ached to ask why, yet he stayed impatiently silent, watching Ratchet stare into a cupboard without really appearing to actually see its contents, the grounder declaring, “There are multiple healed weld marks along the same track on his lower abdomen; the internal exam I performed showed parallel welds on the roof of his gestation tank.”

First Aid, Hoist and Ambulon all cringed, Hoist hissing almost sympathetically, “Do you think…?”

“I don’t know, but it is a good guess that Starscream did it himself,” grimaced Ratchet.

“Did what?” asked Jazz, very articulately considering how violently Skyfire was frowning.

“It seems that Starscream has been periodically removing all the compiled material from his own gestation tank, thus preventing himself from going into heat,” said Ratchet. Skyfire’s servos flew to his mouth at the implication but Jazz just looked confused still.

“Wha?” asked Jazz.

“He has been surgically performing birth control on himself,” translated Ratchet. “By removing the compiled material within his gestation tank, he has been keeping himself from being sparked by his trine and I would hazard a bet that he has been performing the same service for the other carriers amongst his seekers. Whether he did it because sparklings would be an inconvenience or because he does not believe a war to be a good place for them, I can’t say. The point is, is that he did it and that he clearly doesn’t want to be sparked. That being said, we caught him at a good time because looking at his gestation tank, I discovered that he is nearly fully compiled - I think that his surgery time was slated for the near future, but I’m going to give him exactly what his frame needs to finish that process quickly.”

“Which is going to take a few orns, by the way,” noted Ratchet.

“What about his trine?” asked Skyfire worriedly. “Star told me that they were in the desert while we were talking.”

“They’ll probably look for him once they decide that he is taking too long to return to them, but Arizona is quite far off from where we are,” said Wheeljack.

“But how are we going to catch them?” asked Skyfire.

“Hah!” smirked Jazz, “Skyfire, we already have the best bait!”

“How much do you know about heats, Skyfire?” grimaced First Aid.

“I know that it’s the best time to spark a conjunx if you intend to,” said Skyfire uncomfortably.

“That’s true, but how a heat functions differs by species,” said First Aid. “Most frame types are quite blasé about heats - sure, the mech in heat can get sparked, maybe, if they want to, but they are also able to completely ignore it. In frame types where numbers matter, well, Starscream has a very high population index to fill, doesn’t he? When a seeker goes into heat, his trinemates know it, because not only is the one with carrier-coding _shrieking_ ‘come hither’ across their trine’s bond, he’s doing it verbally too, calling them to his side to frag him senseless.”

“Repeatedly,” added Ratchet with a scoff. “When a seeker is in heat, the whole fragging ship knows it and the only mecha capable of shutting him up are his trinemates. Knowing Starscream, nobody’s going to recharge here until Thundercracker and Skywarp show up once his heat is triggered.”

“And once his heat _is_ triggered, newsparks are almost guaranteed,” said First Aid. “Like I said: seekers need numbers, so when they’re in heat, they get sparked and there’s no such thing as ignoring it or abstinence.”

Skyfire was shocked. “Um, how do you know that?” He hadn’t even known this - but maybe Starscream had been too embarrassed to tell him about it.

“Our few seekers used to go into heat too until I started doing exactly what Starscream’s been doing,” grumbled Ratchet. “You want a mech to annoy you senseless? A seeker in heat has you covered.”

“Mostly we just didn’t think it safe,” exvented First Aid. “Seeker sparklings are particularly vulnerable, plus the carrier is thrown out of commission for a while, and we needed our carrier seekers to fight along with their mates. It’s not Functionism, by the way - we monitor all of our mecha with carrier-coding the same way.”

Skyfire’s wings gave a jerk, “If it’s not okay to spark Autobot carriers, then why is it alright to do this to Starscream?”

“Because he’s our enemy,” said First Aid simply, “even if he doesn’t suddenly have a change of spark and inact change, at least he’ll be a weaker foe. This is going to ruin him, Skyfire - I doubt mecha will follow him the same way that they have when they find out that he’s a carrier. They’re going to abandon him, and our side will have the upper servo.”

Skyfire almost purged and his nausea only got worse as Jazz cackled, “Y’never know, Skyfire; maybe Screamer’ll come crawling to our side just to protect his bitlets from ol’ Buckethelm!”

“Not that we’d ever take him,” snorted First Aid cruelly. “It’s the brig for him and his infernal trine if that happens. They’ll never fly again.”  
Skyfire couldn’t listen. He rushed for Starscream’s door and thrust himself inside the private room, shutting it swiftly behind him. Nobody said anything; Ratchet didn’t even protest, and Skyfire sank to his knees beside Starscream’s medical berth, staring at his amica’s innocent seeming form, the way that the little seeker had curled up onto his side in his sleep, his wings quivering adorably in his slumber.

The seeker was unconscious and separated from his protective trine because of Skyfire, the mech who was supposed to be his best friend.

“I am _so_ sorry,” whimpered Skyfire, clutching a small blue servo, trying to project as much reassurance as he could into it, even if that felt impossible. “I’ll understand if you never forgive me,..”

* * *

Skyfire woke almost painfully to the discovery that he had passed out on the incredibly hard floor of Starscream’s room, his frame screaming what it thought of it. From where he was laying, he had an excellent view of Starscream’s nutrient drip, the proof that he was a horrible friend and an aft helm. He also had a view of Ratchet, who was checking Starscream’s spark monitor while preparing a syringe, the medic noting dryly, “Welcome back to the world of the online.”

“How long have I been laying here?” groaned Skyfire.

“Six joors. I’m not surprised, that was a lot of strain for your spark,” said Ratchet. “I wouldn’t have left you there except for that conversation.”

Skyfire swallowed hard, remembering exactly which conversation he meant. Hopefully, Skyfire asked, “You’re not doing this just to weaken Star, are you?”

“According to war that would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” griped Ratchet. “I’m an Autobot and he’s a Decepticon, so I should destroy him - but I was a medic first, Skyfire, and I remember the vorns when some of my patients were sparklings, when I helped their carriers bring them to term. I believe Wheeljack told you that our kind is on its way out? Because we are, unless more sparklings happen - so, call me not-Autobot enough, but I see making Starscream carry as something I can do to hopefully make at least one Cybertronian species survive. We’re driving ourselves extinct with this stupid war and sparking Starscream will endanger him, yes, but I highly doubt that there is a carrier left better capable of protecting his little ones.”

“Actually,” mused Ratchet sadly as Skyfire stiffly stood up to watch what he was doing to Starscream, “if you look at the original ideals of our faction, I’d say that I am more Autobot than most. We started to protect life on Cybertron and oppose the Decepticons, but we’re not even on Cybertron anymore and we haven’t been for eons. And, maybe the Decepticons were right about us in the beginning to some degree, since we did come from the Functionist regime that they despised, but we weren’t about that. We didn’t care about alt modes or species - the Decepticons were terrorists and we opposed them. They went about trying to achieve equality the wrong way.”

Starscream whimpered in his recharge and Skyfire petted him, admitting to the medic as Ratchet injected something into his amica’s arm, “This just all seems so _wrong_ to me, Ratchet. Star’s a scientist, I feel like if the war didn’t exist Wheeljack and Perceptor would be friends with him. He’s so brilliant and I know you’ve all seen a very different side of him, but he’s the sweetest mech I have ever met.”

“Then he will be a good carrier,” decided Ratchet, “because that’s the side of him his sparklings will know.”

“Seekerlings,” corrected Skyfire with a smile.

“What?” asked Ratchet.

“They’re called seekerlings,” said Skyfire.

“Well, whatever they’re called they’re going to be little terrors coming from his trine,” snorted Ratchet, finishing his slow injection from the syringe and scanning Starscream’s midriff. “Good news, Skyfire; Starscream is compiling the supplements which I have been giving him.”

“How many orns do you think it’ll take?” asked Skyfire.

“Well, considering that I am giving him supplementation as fast as I can prepare it… two more? Hopefully not too long, because that trine of his is probably getting tired of looking for him,” said Ratchet. “They’re going to call backup soon for sure, and considering his rank, that might be the entire Decepticon Army.”

* * *

Skyfire, being neutral, was kept quite in the dark about what was happening with the Decepticon Army and whether they were attacking or not. He stayed in the medical bay, feeling uncomfortable about leaving Starscream’s side when he felt like his amica only had he and Ratchet to protect him in his helpless state. He was sitting beside Starscream’s berth and playing gently with his friend’s claws, forever admiring the smooth way that they retracted when Starscream’s door opened. Freezing, he looked up and Wheeljack made a small wave, “Hey, Skyfire, how’s Starscream?”

“He’s fine,” said Skyfire guardedly, tucking Starscream’s servo back against his chest under his wing. The seeker might not have been conscious, but his helm was pointed at Skyfire and he was curled close, something which Skyfire had had nothing to do with. Starscream made a small unhappy noise and Skyfire rubbed his wing reassuringly, “What do you want?”

“Heard from Ratchet what First Aid said,” said Wheeljack, stepping deeper into the room, Skyfire belatedly noticing Perceptor as the sniper/scientist stepped in too, then shut the door behind them. “We don’t feel that way, Skyfire, we’re with Ratchet. Even if Starscream doesn’t change slag, at least there’ll be little extra seekers in the world, right? And those little seekers’ll maybe inspire more, and maybe one species of Cybertronian will outlast our extinction.”

“Trust it to be them,” sighed Perceptor. “The Functionists hated seekers, so it would be the ultimate slap.”

“They’re not so bad,” said Wheeljack. “I like our Seeker mecha. Skyfire, why don’t you tell us about Starscream the Scientist? We don’t know him; please?” 

Skyfire felt like he couldn’t trust them, especially as Starscream whimpered again, his wingtips flicking faintly in his recharge. “Why? What are you going to do with that knowledge? He’s your enemy.”

“But he’s not yours, he’s your friend,” said Wheeljack, sitting on the nearby counter, “and maybe, whatever happens from this, we could be friends with him too. Blank slate, Skyfire? I’m willing to pretend, just for right now, in this room, that he’s Professor Starscream again.”

“How d’you know he was a professor?” asked Skyfire warily, absently rubbing Starscream’s chest.

“You said that he was a scientist,” grunted Perceptor.

“Who was Professor Starscream?” prompted Wheeljack again.

“I don’t feel safe with you mecha,” noted Skyfire, “because you’ve killed.”

“You’re the only mech left who hasn’t,” said Perceptor. “That seeker you’re fondling has been responsible for the deaths of thousands.”

“And how many deaths have you been responsible for, Perceptor?” retorted Skyfire. “Maybe Star did what he thought that he had to, just like you.”

“You have no grounds to discuss this war, Skyfire - for you it hasn’t even happened,” said Perceptor.

“And yet you Autobots speak of my amica endura with condemnation for war crimes which I’m sure that you are all guilty of, since you have admitted to killing,” snapped Skyfire. Beneath his hand, Starscream shifted restlessly and he grimaced, reluctantly withdrawing a datapad, “Fine - like Wheeljack said, let’s forget about that slag right now. Do you have a holoprojector? I’ll show you my friend and his accomplishments.”

His companions stared at his footage and video clips as if Cybertron and the orns before the war had become completely alien to them. For Skyfire, it still seemed like just a while ago he had been solidly home on Cybertron with Starscream, preparing for their final expedition - for Wheeljack and Perceptor, Cybertron seemed to be a forgotten dream.

“What’s Cybertron like now?” asked Skyfire some joors later.

“Ask your amica,” said Perceptor, nodding to the uneasily slumbering Starscream, who almost seemed to know despite being unconscious that he was among enemies from the way he had somehow shifted himself even closer to Skyfire. “No Autobot has been there in centravorns.”

* * *

There was no indication that Ratchet had succeeded in putting Starscream into heat until Skyfire was startled alert one evening by the seeker suddenly writhing on his berth. Hitting the call bell was redundant as despite being unconscious - or maybe he wasn’t anymore - Starscream started making the most spark-rending trills which Skyfire had ever heard. Ratchet rushed in with a crash as Skyfire tried to hug Starscream to keep him still, but the seeker kept calling plaintively, Ratchet yelling over him, “WHY DIDN’T YOU NOTICE HIM TWITCHING?!”

“HE ONLINED ME!” cried Skyfire back.

“FRAGGING PIT!” cursed Ratchet.

“IS HE OKAY?” shouted Skyfire.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK?!” roared Ratchet. “HE’S IN DISTRESS BECAUSE HE CAN’T FEEL HIS TRINE!”

“Eh, Ratch, is thadda siren song?” declared Jazz, peering around the door, having apparently been on the other side of it.

“GO AWAY, JAZZ!” yelled Ratchet, and Starscream’s pained trilling ceased as the medic injected a stronger sedative. Ratchet scowled and patted him, glaring resentfully towards the main medical bay which Jazz had disappeared into, then to Skyfire’s surprise, he patted Starscream’s wing. “It’s okay, Starscream, we’re going to reunite you with your trine, I promise.”

“How do you know so much about Seeker reproduction?” asked Skyfire, unhappily watching Starscream’s stillness. “Most medics didn’t know what to do with them back in Iacon.”

“I had a colleague who was Seeker,” grimaced Ratchet. “Designation of Pharma; he taught me most of what I know - the rest I learned in the field.” He looked at Skyfire, “You wanna meet Starscream’s trine?”

* * *

Skyfire knew that he should have said no; Thundercracker and Skywarp were fully likely to know exactly who he was - additionally, with their mate in enemy servos because of him, Skyfire couldn’t imagine that the duo would be exactly pleased to meet him. Still, he found himself carrying Starscream outside beside Ratchet behind Perceptor and Jazz, the latter exclaiming, “Not every orn we catcha whole trine! Primus, this is exciting!”

Skyfire felt rather nauseous again instead, but at least when they stepped outside it was to a beautiful evening, and it got even more pleasant as they walked to the sentry blind where a scowling green mech called Hound awaited them.

“This is where we’re gonna hide,” said Jazz happily as Skyfire hugged Starscream’s warm little blanket-wrapped form close. “Screamer’s smell’ll be callin’ to his prettymechs ta service him, so we’re gonna put him jist down there, righ’ in plain sight.”

“Jazz!” protested Ratchet.

“S’what they’re gonna do, Ratch!” reasoned Jazz garishly.

Finding reason to think himself an incredibly terrible friend again, Skyfire carried Starscream to the spot, which was a bare, freezing cold patch of bald metamorphic stone. To his disgust, there was a ring bolted to the rock and it was to this that he disenchantedly allowed his best friend to be tethered via stasis cuff, unable to help spitting, “Why is this necessary?”

“Because one o’ his mates can teleport,” said Jazz, securing the cuff. “Ol’ Warper can’t take the whole mountain with ‘im though, so this’ll slow him up.”

“This is horrible,” Skyfire saw fit to verbalize. “Starscream is shivering, do you really expect him to be okay chained to the mountainside? It’s fragging cold out here.”

“Starscream’s fine, Skyfire,” called Ratchet. “He’s actually overheating.”

“He doesn’t feel that warm!” protested Skyfire.

“He’s fine,” repeated Ratchet, but this didn’t stop Skyfire from wrapping Starscream snugly in the blanket. Ratchet impatiently barked at him to join them in the blind and he stooped into it, where he found the medic peering over a disturbing assortment of syringes. Even worse, Perceptor just had to be creepily cleaning his sniper rifle again and Skyfire stubbornly shifted his gaze back to Starscream, who was unmoving. 

“I thought you said that the sedative was going to wear off,” grumped Skyfire.

“Shh! It will! Any klik now!” snapped Ratchet.

Skyfire didn’t believe him - a breem later, Ratchet was proven trustworthy in his time predictions at least as Starscream visibly stirred with a squeak. Elegant wings shifted, knocking the blanket off, then Starscream lifted his helm, peering around dazedly, his gaze bleary. The seeker tried to sit up but he got entangled with his blanket which was still wrapped around his legs, at which he made a bemused sound, then abruptly the silent evening was broken by his desperate trilling for a trine which wasn’t there. The sound seemed to go straight to Skyfire’s spark, making him feel ever more repentant, and he wished that he hadn’t come up with the proposal for the plan at all.

“He’s still out of it,” confirmed Ratchet, peering through some binoculars. “Optics remain unfocused; Starscream is acting on pure instinct right now, there’s no conscious thought happening, the drugs are holding.”

“What if he onlines all the way?” ex-vented Skyfire dreadfully.

“Then he will start swearing and trying to claw that cuff off,” said Perceptor, “but he hasn’t even noticed it yet.”

Perceptor, somehow, was right, and despite Starscream’s genius, he continued to be unable to comprehend the stasis cuff. For over a joor Starscream kept up his shrilling, fairly crushing Skyfire’s spark until abruptly he went very quiet, huddling in his blanket which he had clumsily tucked around himself again. Darkness had fallen, bathing the mountainous land in the blackest of shadows, and the only thing which Skyfire could see was the crimson gleam of Starscream’s optics as he looked confusedly around. The seeker curled up tighter, uttering a very subdued cheep, at which Skyfire almost couldn’t take watching him be cold and alone anymore, blurting, “What does his silence mean?”

“SHH!” snapped Perceptor, aiming his gun through the blind’s slitted window for some reason. Skyfire couldn’t see why - except for Starscream, there was absolutely no sign of any mecha, much less any other seekers. He certainly had not heard any telltale screeching roar of thrusters.

“Watch, mech,” implored Jazz in a whisper.

Grumpy, Skyfire looked, and felt a shiver go up his backstrut as he saw the bob of crimson optics which weren’t Starscream’s coming from the other side of the clearing. He heard a low, hissing ventilation which sounded like a mech drawing in a long sniff, a sound which was echoed from a different direction. Starlight briefly illustrated the triangular flicker of a wing, and it was only then that Skyfire realized that Starscream was staring directly at the other seeker. To wrench Skyfire’s spark even more, his audials registered contented purring, and he clenched his denta as he realized that it was coming from his amica, who was apparently overjoyed to be back in the presence of his trinemates.

His trine, perhaps because they weren’t stoned out of their minds on sedatives, did not approach at first and for a long time Skyfire had no idea where the third seeker was. In the darkness, he couldn’t even tell what colour the one that he could see was, and so he had no idea which trinemate he was looking at. While he patiently and batedly waited for something to happen, Starscream’s purring faded after about a breem, at which he started chirping instead, evidently impatient. This was confirmed when his chirps became grumpy little sounds interspaced with angry huffs, then the smallest of metallic clicks rang out across the clearing and Skyfire distinctly saw the seeker across from them in the trees _stiffen. _

Before he could ask what that was, there was a purple flash and a bizarre fizzing popping sound, then suddenly Starscream wasn’t alone anymore. A protesting bark rang out across the clearing from the other seeker who had been lurking in the trees, and Skyfire thanked Primus dearly that Starscream had taught him to be fluent in Vosian as he understand the irritable, _“Warp!”_ for what it was.

“TC, he smells_ so_ good!” complained the nearly black seeker whom Starscream was now apparently attempting to rub himself against. 

“Skywarp, he’s acting weird, so something is wrong!” growled Thundercracker, the mech in the trees. Starscream gave a demanding sound, Thundercracker huffing, “Starscream, what the frag?”

Skyfire decided that Starscream’s trine had not gotten the memo about him being in heat. Meanwhile, Skywarp was ignoring Thundercracker, giggling as Starscream squeaked at him and purred, still trying to brush against him, laughing, “Star, stop! What’s gotten into you? You’re never this cuddly outside of the base!”

Skyfire glanced at his companions in the blind and saw only confusion. Confident that Starscream wasn’t embarrassing himself too much with his potentially horny and very drugged antics, Skyfire returned his gaze to Skywarp, who had just discovered the stasis cuff, exclaiming nervously, “TC, he’s cuffed to the rock! I can’t teleport him!”

Thundercracker finally left the trees, wings shifting worriedly, Skyfire at last able to see him properly. While Skywarp’s black and purple markings seemed to make him vanish into the night, Thundercracker’s blue was much more visible. He was a full helm-and-a-half taller than Starscream was, and he was bigger than Skywarp as well, although not by nearly as much. The fact that he had sire coding was evident in his stronger build and Skyfire flinched as the mech approached his trine, clearly clever enough to deny any trust to the situation at hand. Starscream trilled excitedly, jumping towards Thundercracker without any apparent regard for his tethered servo so that he fell on his chest, bumping his chin. At his pained screech Skywarp pounced on him and started crooning, but Thundercracker froze, staring around uneasily as Skywarp hugged Starscream, exclaiming, “Star, you smell so-so-so-so good, I can’t get over it! I dunno why but you smell _amazing!”_

Starscream seemed to approve this message, since to Skyfire’s vast embarrassment, he clumsily seized Skywarp’s left servo then shoved it between his thighs, Skywarp yelping, “Um, uh, I don’t think that this is the place, Star!”

“Somebody wants ta be fragged,” smirked Jazz. A thud implied Ratchet or Perceptor slapping him.

Thundercracker and Skywarp stiffened, Thundercracker growling, “Something’s not right, something -”

_FFVTT!_ Skyfire jerked at the sound from Perceptor’s gun, his servo flying to his mouth as Skywarp gasped then keeled over, Thundercracker barely glancing at this then bolting back for the woods, Perceptor swearing, “Jazz!”

“What he means to say is ‘you dumbaft,’” snapped Ratchet. “Now Thundercracker is after us!”

“Let ‘im hunt us, we’ll get ‘im!” grinned Jazz, even as there was a crash unnervingly close by. Skyfire watched Perceptor reload his gun with a fresh dart out of the corner of his optic and he was just in time to see a menacing flicker of red optics outside, then there was the sound of a null ray discharging, followed by a pink flash. Hound slumped, Ratchet cursing, and Skyfire knew that there would be another null ray hit, that it would probably hit him -

The muzzle of Perceptor’s gun tracked, and there was another hissing percussion, then a pained thud, Ratchet all at once shoving over Skyfire out of the blind, Hound apparently fine. Skyfire scrambled after him, stumbling over the rocks outside, and felt his spark stall for a klik at the sight of Thundercracker laid out only a few strides away from their blind, his vents working hard, his optics staring straight ahead. For the first time in Skyfire’s life, he was able to appreciate how seekers could be intimidating as he saw the way that Thundercracker’s teeth and claws were bared, his null rays still glowing online. The seeker’s wings were quivering angrily, and Skyfire worried that he was not fully sedated.

Ratchet, apparently worried about this too, jabbed Thundercracker with a syringe, at which his ventilations finally slowed and his null rays powered down, the dangerous, peculiar humming ring in the air vanishing. Nauseous, Skyfire hurried after Ratchet to Skywarp, whom Starscream was pathetically yet loyally trying to rouse, whimpering profoundly because his mate wasn’t responding to him.

Or maybe because Skywarp was crushing him - he was quite a bit bigger than Starscream was. The black seeker had collapsed on top of him, and had Starscream been in his right mind, he would have been squawking bloody murder at the indecency of his predicament. Instead, he just whined like an unhappy turbopuppy, his gaze fixed on Thundercracker

“I’m sorry, Star,” choked Skyfire.

“Keep it together, mech!” exclaimed Jazz as Ratchet administered more sedative to Skywarp. “We gotta get ‘em into the _Ark_ before more ‘cons show up!”

“Yes, we just want these three,” groused Ratchet as Jazz removed the stasis cuffs and Starscream hissed softly when Skyfire picked him up, parting him from Skywarp. Choosing not to take this personally, Skyfire concentrated on helping get the trine inside, where at least it was warm, even if the scowling crowd which had gathered was decidedly unfriendly. They brought the trine to a medbay, where a waiting Hoist and First Aid immediately got to work drawing line energon samples from Thundercracker and Skywarp. Skyfire kept hold of Starscream, who seemed to remain barely cognizant of what was happening, and watched the two dark mechs, noting with some faint distress all the physical ways that they were better for his amica than him. The two sire-coded seekers were fiercely beautiful, their vibrant plating implying to his optics that they were in good health as he watched Ratchet check them over.

“Skywarp has passed his visual exam,” noted Ratchet for Ambulon, who was writing on a datapad. “For a mech who apparently spends his life pranking everyone he’s in good health.”

“His line energon is in better condition than Starscream’s was when we brought him in,” noted First Aid from the testing equipment. “It’s much richer in nutrients, maybe he steals more high grade or something?”

“He might have a sweet denta,” shrugged Hoist, peering into a microscope. “Starscream might skip some meals, y’never know… Thundercracker’s line energon looks pretty good.”

Skyfire edged closer to the two mechs, letting Starscream peer at them and his amica whined loudly, Ratchet pausing to pat him as he walked past him with a murmur of, “Shh, Starscream.”

Starscream didn’t like this; he hissed. When nobody paid any attention to this, he growled softly and Skyfire did his best to distract him, but Starscream seemed absolutely fixated on watching his unmoving trinemates. Watching Ratchet express Thundercracker’s claws, Skyfire shivered at how somehow much larger the sire-mech’s natural weapons were than Starscream’s and he swallowed as Hoist wrote down a note about their functionality. The medics kept working, examining every part of the sire-seekers frames, confirming functionality, then Ratchet went for his own look at the test results before finally concluded, “Well, there’s nothing physical which should make Starscream disdain these two as sires of his newsparks, they’re both in better health than he was when he came in.”

“Why would their health be better than his? Is it because of his carrier-coding and the compiling?” asked Skyfire, listening worriedly to Starscream’s soft growling and whining, the seeker’s field shrieking with anxious confusion.

“No. Mecha with sire-coding compile resources into their transfluid to give to their mates, so Starscream should be on equal footing with his mates there,” said First Aid.

“It’s most likely the damage he suffers at Megatron’s servos setting him back,” said Ratchet. “When he came in I did notice damage to his vocalizer and microfractures in his neck. Being constantly physically attacked would set a mech back with his self repair having to always be at work.”

Skyfire’s spark gave an unpleasant swoop and Starscream whimpered a bit more plaintively, as if he recognized his tormentor’s designation even in his drugged heat daze. “Y-you’re serious? Completely?” He hadn’t wanted to believe it.

“It’s well known in both factions, Skyfire,” said Ambulon. “I used to be a Decepticon and before I switched sides I knew about Megatron beating him. I came here and everyone here knew it too.”

“I already gave him an injection of self-repair nanites to help,” said Ratchet clinically, taking a handful of syringes from Hoist. “Time to bolster our two sires-to-be.”

Skyfire desperately wanted to ask Starscream about his relationship with Megatron, but his amica wasn’t paying any attention at all to him. The little seeker full out hissed and swatted in the general direction of Ratchet each time the medic injected his trinemates. Starscream adamantly disliked Ratchet and the other medics touching his mates, making Skyfire actually somewhat grateful that his friend was completely ignoring him. He had never seen such grumpy sounds come from Starscream, and it was a sheer surprise when the seeker snarled at Ratchet for daring to come close to check on him, his amica’s mates having been deemed ready to go. Satisfied that Starscream was still very stoned, the trine was ferried to a large habsuite, inside of which was a very comfy looking berth, plenty of blankets, and a veritable heap of what Skyfire realized were energon treats.

“They’re getting knocked up, better make it good, right?” chirped Jazz, apparently responsible for this.

“At least it’s not high grade,” grumbled Ratchet.

“’course not, yeh said that’d interfere with their drugs,” said Jazz brightly as Skyfire laid an extremely confused and still not-very-present Starscream on the berth beside the treats. He picked up one and showed it to him, but Starscream ignored it, looking instead for his trine. They were brought in, laid side by side at the berth’s other end and Starscream pitifully crawled over to them, then hissed murder at Ratchet while he reversed the sedatives on his mates, injecting them both with something else before hurriedly standing.

“Hush, you,” Ratchet told Starscream. Seeing Skyfire still there, Skyfire belatedly realizing that everyone else had retreated, Ratchet snatched him by the arm and dragged him back outside into the hallway, barking, “Red Alert, seal this habsuite; nobody disturbs them.”

“What happens now?” asked Skyfire uneasily, wishing that he could still see his amica.

“Now? Now we give them privacy, and we don’t bother them,” snapped Ratchet. “This is a good time for _you_ to take a nap, you’ve hardly rested since we caught Starscream.”

“But what’s going to keep Star and his trine safe?” asked Skyfire worriedly, noting Sunstreaker and Sideswipe present in the cranky crowd of watching Autobots.

“They’re not getting past Prime or Ironhide,” promised Ratchet and Skyfire, noting the duo taking up position, reluctantly left, praying dearly to Primus that nothing would happen to call his amica’s guards away.


	11. The Worst Interface Dream Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream feels funny and has a terrible dream with far too many Autobots in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the delay in posting, the Christmas season ended up consuming every last second of my time, so I couldn't upload. I'm hoping to fix that today with a few chapters. I hope that everyone had a good holiday, and that you are having a great new year so far! Peace and love!
> 
> NOTE: Heed the tags.

It was a bizarrely vivid dream, as far as dreams went. Starscream had onlined keenly aware of his valve, which was absolutely burning for spike(s,) and then he had dreamed about Autobots, as well as Skyfire. Skyfire had been nice, but Starscream had wanted to shout at the rest to get out of his weird aft dream, but for some reason he had not really been able to communicate. Skyfire had lugged him around a bit, then he had been chained to a rock, his hungry valve still contracting painfully on nothing (had he been able to, he would have shoved pretty much anything inside of it to soothe the pang.) He _wanted_ his trine and he kept calling for his trine - why weren’t the fraggers already _there_ with him?! Why were they _neglecting_ him?!

And then… then they had been there, and he had been happy, until the dumbafts had just watched him instead of approaching him, instead of snuggling then fragging him, protecting him. Starscream had tried to tell them what he had thought of this, but his vocalizer had not cooperated and all he had been able to make were dumb sparkling sounds while his mates had talked about him as if he was not even present. Incensed, he had tried a new tactic, opening his valve cover and it had worked like magic, Skywarp there beside him in a beautiful instance. 

Except… he had not fragged him. The stupid fragger had debated back and forth with Thundercracker instead, until he had abruptly slumped on top of Starscream for no reason at all, despite Starscream having just acquainted Skywarp’s lucky fingers with his open valve, reminding him about it. This had been rude, and it had been even ruder that Thundercracker had left, disappearing, and then the horrible Autobots had returned with Skyfire, who had picked Starscream up. Frustrated, Starscream had wanted nothing to do with this stupid slag, even if it was his best friend (sorry, Skyfire, but he wanted his _trine,_) and the dream had seen him being lugged into the _Ark_ of all places, where he had been taken to the medical bay, where the Autobots had all ignored him while they had ran tests which he had not understood on his mates while Skyfire had held him. Finally, Skyfire had carried him away from the medical bay, then plopped him down on an exquisitely soft berth in a horrible orange room (which meant that it belonged to a slagging Autobot.) 

Skyfire had shown him a treat, but those were probably poisoned, since this was a dream about slagging Autobots, and the moment that Starscream had noticed that his trine had been lain on the same berth as him, he’d crawled over to the neglectful bastards. _Ratchet_ had been doing something to them _again,_ something Starscream distinctly did _not_ trust, so he had hissed at him, and the dumbaft had told him off, not like he was his enemy, but more like he was some irritating turbohound. 

Insulting!

But at least then the stupid Autoglitches had left, taking a staring Skyfire with them, and Starscream had last been gloriously alone with his mates, both of whom seemed to be unconscious. Annoyed, he shoved his way between them and smacked their cheeks, trying to wake the idiots up; when this did not work, he opened his valve up again, hoping the click of his cover coming undone would stir them. 

It didn’t. The idiots slumbered on for an entire groon, then abruptly Thundercracker stirred awake with a cough, sniffed, then pinned Starscream with delicious force. Absolutely delighted, Starscream spread his legs and purred as his mate nuzzled him. His valve was dripping just at the sight of Thundercracker’s spike (Starscream marvelled at how slagging convenient dreams were,) and Thundercracker was thrusting hilt deep before Skywarp even stirred, Starscream gasping happily as Thundercracker had his sensuous way with him. He tried to cry out encouragement, but all he managed were inarticulate screeches of bliss, and Thundercracker’s own gasps and purrs were like music in his audials. Starscream kissed his mate between harsh pants, pressing out how much he loved him through their bond, only to watch in mild annoyance as Skywarp suddenly made his opinion of Thundercracker mounting Starscream first known, the teleporter growling warningly.

His mates never fought, so the dream was inaccurate, and Starscream watched in profound irritation as the normally very amiable pair traded swats, Thundercracker snarling his right as dominant sire-mate to have Starscream first. Skywarp, normally happily subordinate, was not having it, and Starscream snarled in outrage as Thundercracker dismounted from him to pin Skywarp instead, the black seeker attempting to fight him off. Ignored now, Starscream rolled and trilled demandingly, trying to remind them that he didn’t care who got him first, so long as someone was fragging him at all times. Thundercracker won the contest with another heavy swat to Skywarp’s wing which left the black seeker bleeding, then he suddenly bowled Starscream over again, nipping the side of his neck in apparent punishment for moving as he sheathed his spike once more.

Thundercracker being an idiot, and his denta hurting, Starscream smacked him in the face for biting him then wrapped his legs around his waist lest he dare dismount again while Skywarp watched impatiently, seemingly unaware of the painful wound on his wing which normally would have seen him screeching for help. Starscream’s processor focused in on the amazing spike filling him, the way that the swollen thing seemed to caress every single node inside of him, rubbing so lusciously inside of him. Thundercracker set a swift pace, fragging Starscream fantastically hard, Starscream trilling his appreciation then gasping as his mate kissed him passionately, then froze, spike shoved deep -

Overload hit like a convoy running them over, Thundercracker hissing as his hot transfluid jetted deep into Starscream who screeched at the wonderful sensation. His mate held himself in until his spike was empty, then Starscream yelped as he pulled out, only to suddenly have a face full of purring, loving Skywarp as his other mate pushed his own spike inside of him, filling his valve which had momentarily been empty. Usually, Skywarp was the more sensuous, gentle ‘face, but the dream seemed to be addled, because Skywarp fragged Starscream just as hard as Thundercracker had. Their overload crashed just as harshly as Starscream’s overload with Thundercracker and he felt winded as Skywarp pulled out, his spike empty, yet Starscream’s gestation tank didn’t yet feel full, which was a _crime_ which they needed to know about. 

Screeching, he rolled and showed them how his valve was _still_ open, _still_ in need of their neglectful spikes, but all the fraggers did was watch him, panting, apparently needing a moment to themselves. _How dare they_ rang through Starscream’s processor and he pounced on Thundercracker, biting the back of his neck in rebuke, because he had had a break, so shouldn’t he have energy to ‘face him again by now? Thundercracker, oddly, just purred, his side of the bond just as happy as Skywarp’s, not at all effected by Starscream’s angry nip. Infuriated, Starscream rubbed himself against Thundercracker’s back, then, when the dumbaft still did not respond except to nuzzle affectionately at him and Skywarp, he rubbed himself all over Skywarp instead, who proved to also be an idiot.

Both failing to service him the way that he thought that they were supposed to, he rolled around on the berth beside them, screeching about what neglectful bastards they were.

They just kept panting happily, watching him flail around smearing his valve lubricant everywhere like it was the most normal thing in the universe. 

Starscream attempted to screech about hating them; they ignored him, and nuzzled each other again, kissing as they caught their breaths. At their sudden movement towards him, he prostrated himself in invitation, thighs as wide as he could spread them and he growled as they kissed him instead. Skywarp flopped down onto his back beside him and Starscream hissed at him, because he was _clearly_ supposed to lay down on _top_ of him, then he squealed as Skywarp rolled onto his side facing him, hugged him, then rolled back onto his wings so that Starscream was laying atop him. Something about this flickered through Starscream’s processor as _right_ and it became even _more_ right as Skywarp’s spike deliciously intruded. There was still something wrong though, so he growled until he noticed Thundercracker kneeling between their legs, then -

_Aw frag, bliss._ It was the best Primus-damned dream that Starscream had _ever_ had. Both of his mates were fragging him at once and of course they had done that before, so there should not have been anything remotely special about it, but somehow, in the dream there was. Somehow it felt far more amazing, more exquisite than usual, their spikes seeming to fill him more than normal, his valve seeming extra sensitive, extra accommodating. It was almost painfully good and Starscream sobbed happily, overwhelmed by how much he loved his mates as they both crooned encouragement to him. He did his best to make their ‘facing as good as it could be, pushing back into their thrusts and when they finally overloaded, he felt like his gestation chamber overflowed with their transfluid. 

Pure satisfaction flushed through him, the itch to be fragged fading pleasantly from his valve lining and as his mates withdrew their thoroughly sated spikes, he felt his valve cover close, firmly sealing in what they had given him. He twisted around and his mates held still, tenderly grooming his wings as he licked the residual transfluid off of their spikes, thinking that it tasted better than usual. Their spikes clean, he snuggled into their arms until he felt vaguely that there was something else profound which he needed from them. He found himself stroking their chests and feeling the summoning pull of their sparks, he laid obligingly one more time on his wings, chirping encouragement so that his mates pinned him, pressing their faces to his, pure affectionate love singing through the trinebond. 

Thundercracker’s chest plates opened first, then Skywarp’s and Starscream could not resist the call of their sparks. He squirmed happily and released his own spark, which was flooded with his mates’ happy adoration the moment that it merged with them. Starscream gasped ecstatically, the dream now soft, gentle instead of sensuous. He loved them so much and he pressed this at them, giving them himself more fully than he ever had before. They pressed themselves back delightedly, the physical strengthening of their spark bond a mess of disjointed _I love you, I love you, I love you._ In the dream, it was as if the war did not exist at all, and Starscream cried with joy, then stiffened as that joy seemed to overcome his spark in a way that none of their merges ever had before, not even the one which had made them_ trine,_ binding them forever.

It was a profound sensation - a sensation which came with an almost real _click,_ like a sheet of glass being sheared cleanly off of a larger one. Something fell away, something which separated and a fuzzy feeling came over Starscream’s spark as his mates’ sparks pressed closer, still transmitting their essences. The fuzzy feeling was pleasant, and immediately almost as it began there was a fizzing feeling inside of his frame like chemistry beakers spilling over, but Starscream did not have time to contemplate the joyful sensation. Overload hit him stronger than ever, and this time it knocked him into recharge. He was just faintly aware of his mates gently taking care that his chest plates were shut then curling protectively around him, then the blackness of recharge completely absorbed him.

* * *

“Alright, Skyfire, let’s go check on them,” said Ratchet tiredly as he led Skyfire back towards the hab suite, Perceptor at their heels. “Optimus says that they went silent a few joors ago.”

Skyfire flushed, glad that he had not had to listen, and grateful to the Prime for standing guard over his amica’s trine while they were vulnerable. When they arrived, the old mech Ironhide was looking disturbed but Optimus Prime greeted them benevolently with, “I believe that they’re recharging, Ratchet.”

“Perfect, Optimus; come on, Skyfire,” urged Ratchet and Skyfire reluctantly followed him inside, then covered his mouth as he witnessed the scene inside. The heap of energon treats was completely untouched, but the rest of the berth was an absolute mess. Snuggled tightly together at the far end of the berth were Thundercracker and Skywarp, Starscream barely visible underneath of them. Thundercracker’s optics onlined and he growled at Ratchet’s approach but this faded as Perceptor shot him with another dart. As soon as Skywarp was also darted, Skyfire reluctantly helped Ratchet disentangle them from Starscream, his amica not even stirring at being touched, Ratchet sighing, “Good, this is good. See his distended middle, Skyfire, Perceptor? That’s his gestation tank - he’s full of his mates’ transfluid, so he should be sparked, _in theory,_ but we need to confirm. Optimus, Ironhide, can you help? I need them all in the medbay.”

“Doesn’t Starscream need sedative?” asked Skyfire as he eyed Starscream’s tummy, which was indeed decidedly a little bit rounder than normal. 

“No, if he’s truly sparked then he won’t online for around an orn,” said Ratchet. “His frame is trying to process the beginning of its creation protocols and it’s a labour intensive process, so Starscream’s going to recharge straight through it. But, if he does online, then we’ll know that he isn’t sparked.”

Praying that Starscream would stay in heat-induced slumber, Skyfire picked up his amica and hugged him as he carried him back to the medical bay. There, Ratchet had him lay Starscream on his side, informing everyone present that they did not want Starscream to be uncomfortable, which seemed to be a bit of an oxymoron to the watching Autobots by the way their expressions tightened.

“I know, it sounds weird, but he’s probably sparked, so have some care!” snapped Ratchet, his voice more hushed than usual. “First Aid, Hoist - fix up Thundercracker and Skywarp, looks like they had a pre-coital disagreement about who got to be happy first.”

Skyfire’s flush got worse and he carefully avoided looking at the very obvious scratch marks marring Thundercracker and Skywarp’s beautiful wings. He focused on Starscream and grimaced as he saw denta marks on his neck, Ratchet commenting dryly, “Looks like one of his mates is a bit aggressive sometimes. Of course, I’d probably be too if my mate was _Starscream.” _

“Is he carrying?” rumbled Optimus Prime somewhat urgently, laying a servo on Starscream’s pede.

“Just a klik, Optimus, let me get my spark scanner,” sighed Ratchet, going over to a drawer and digging around. He returned with a device which he fiddled with for a few kliks, then, finally, everyone held their vents (even Jazz, who had shown up,) as Ratchet ran the device over Starscream’s chest. The device dinged and Ratchet looked at it, then smiled broadly, “Congratulations, mecha - we have our first Cybertronian newsparks in three hundred-and-eighty thousand centravorns. Winglord Starscream of Vos is gestating three very tiny little newsparks.”

“That is excellent, Ratchet,” declared Optimus Prime warmly. “I will spread the good news, and a new standing order to not attack this trine. Of course, I would feel better if they stayed here, but that would need to be their own conscious decision and I fear that it is one which in their current state, they are not yet ready to make.”

“I wouldn’t try it, Optimus,” agreed Ratchet dryly, scanning Starscream’s spark again, then recording the scanner’s data. He finished with this, then he set about repairing the denta mark in Starscream’s neck before bringing over a tray of syringes, explaining before Skyfire could ask, “Supplements; I need to give him as much as I can while I can to give the newsparks a proper start.”

It was with this that Skyfire was finally hit with the profound nature of what was happening and he touched his amica endura’s warm wing, stunned beyond himself that Starscream, the mech who had never wanted to be a creator ever, was now carrying three incredibly precious new live.

“I love you,” he whispered, in Vosian, and to Starscream’s audials only.


	12. Slagging Off the Nemesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream suddenly feels very differently about a certain warlord, as well as the sunken warship which has been their home for so long.

Starscream came awake coughing and feeling bizarre, like something very weird was going on with his fuel tank, a chemical ache fading from his helm, something itching against his plating. Groaning, he pushed himself up and scowled at the sight of soft desert grit underneath of him, itchy gravel under his frame covering him in revolting dust. Flaring his plating out, he ex-vented violently to clear the powdery grime assailing him and stood up shakily, checking himself over. Wondering only briefly at the constant fuzzy feeling in his spark then disregarding it because it was frankly pleasant, he looked instinctively around for his trinemates and was relieved to see them laying only a few steps away on either side of him. For some reason, there was a pile of cacti laying in front of Skywarp; perhaps he had put it down when they had settled into recharge?

But why the _frag_ would they recharge _here?_ Starscream scowled as he looked around the vast, very empty expanse of the desert surrounding them. Twitching his wings, he made up his mind, stalked over to Skywarp, and kicked him in the shins.

“Ow! Star!” whined Skywarp, coming back online annoyingly sluggishly. “Ugh, I feel terrible…”

“What the frag are we doing here, Skywarp?” demanded Starscream.

“I dunno, something about that shuttle…” groaned Skywarp. “Th’one that’s s’pposed to be dead…”

“Skyfire,” corrected Starscream, peering around and grimacing. There was no sign of Skyfire; there wasn’t even any sign of any Autobots. It was just them alone in this dusty horror show of a place. Annoyed, he stalked over to Thundercracker and kicked him in the knees too, just to make sure that Skywarp saw that he didn’t play favourites, their other trinemate coming awake with a curse.

“Star! Fragging Pit, you awful excuse for a -”

“Love you too, slagheap,” snarled Starscream. “Let’s get back to the _Nemesis,_ I need my HUD recalibrated, it says we’ve been here for fragging orns.”

“We _have_ been here for orns, you fragging went missing, Star, I had to call the coneheads to help us!” snapped Thundercracker.

“So where are they now?” demanded Starscream snidely.

“I had the best dream about ‘facing,” sighed Skywarp happily, still splayed on the ground beside his cacti collection. “We ‘faced you, Star, and it felt _so_ good, like seriously…”

“Ew,” said Starscream, even as he frowned, wondering why he was recalling something bizarrely similar. Thundercracker was also frowning, but because Thundercracker frowned almost constantly, Starscream disregarded it and inspected his very empty radar. There was absolutely no sign of any coneheads or any other Decepticons. “Well, let’s get back to base, fraggers, maybe we’ll be lucky and Buckethelm’ll have blown a critical fuse or something.”

“Buckethelm…” Thundercracker growled and stood shakily, “Starscream, Megatron was wanting to spark you - we’ve missed your appointment with Hook that he ordered!”

“Fabulous, I didn’t want to go anyway,” said Starscream, wrinkling his olfactory sensor as he somehow found the notion even more repugnant than usual. “Hook can keep his nasty grounder servos away from my valve. Let’s go, fraggers!”

“Mmm, fragging,” sighed Skywarp, still not bothering to get up, “that was such a good dream.” He hugged himself, then beamed at Starscream, “Can I ‘face you again, Star?”

Starscream stared at him, then at the dusty, filthy, revolting desert all around them. “Um, how about _no?_ It’s disgusting here, Skywarp!”

“We’ll jump him back at base, Warp,” promised Thundercracker. “Pick up your cacti and we’ll go.”

“’kay,” chirped Skywarp, apparently very enthused about this, Starscream rolling his optics and shivering at the thought of Megatron anywhere near him. Somehow, with the idea of Megatron in mind, the desert was oddly attractive -

“Hurry up!” snapped Starscream and to his definite not-relief they were soon flying, Starscream feeling gradually more uneasy the closer they flew to the coast. His anxiety increased as the ocean drew nearer and abruptly he found himself landing in a field, in plain view of humans who screamed, a strong, undeniable sense of foreboding filling his spark as he thought about the _Nemesis,_ about the furious warlord who was waiting for him. His trine landed on either side of him but he ignored them, staring at the distant stripe of greyish blue which was the Atlantic, beyond which lay the_ Nemesis_ in its unpleasant grave. The _Nemesis,_ which was home to horrible, clumsy mecha who clomped around carelessly, the _Nemesis,_ which was far from the sky, and which had isolation cells in its brig which were surely Starscream’s destination if he dared go anywhere near the ship. 

Something told him that he _couldn’t_ be separated from his trine - he couldn’t go near the angry Megatron, who might well kill him this time. He couldn’t even go near his seekers, who might suspect something - what, he had no idea. Slipstream - Slipstream would be dangerous, he knew - he had fought her more than a few times for his title, and if he showed weakness in front of her now, he’d be slag. 

His processor didn’t let him contemplate why he was assuming that he would be weak. He trembled, trying and failing to make himself rise back onto his thrusters to fly home to the _Nemesis, _but his processor spun back to how vile it was, to how it _leaked_ salty nastiness, to how parts of it were _rusting,_ which was suddenly not only gross, but absolutely intolerable. Not only that, but the weather above it was often slag, locking them inside, with _Megatron,_ and Megatron was -

Starscream was almost too busy hyperventilating through his plating at the thought of Megatron to notice the humans returning full force, and with a significant amount of camouflage green clothing.

“Uhh, Star, we should go,” Thundercracker was noting.

There was a bang and Skywarp yelped, “Ow! One of the little scraplets_ shot_ me!”

At the glyph ‘scraplet’ Starscream flared his wings and looked around, noted a particular ground vehicle which looked _far_ too much like a certain tankformer in his alt mode, then did what came naturally. He shot, screams bursting from the crowd of hideous little organics as their tank heaved to a stop, null energy crackling through it as Starscream hissed, taking offence at the organics’ attack when he had been quite minding his own business, thank you. Another organic raised one of its puny guns to shoot at him and he snatched it by the minute barrel then flung its owner, who slammed into its fellows, knocking down about ten of them. Abruptly amused by this (certainly he’d just discovered a very entertaining new sport,) he made to snatch at another one, then froze as he perceived something monumentally more dangerous circling above them.

Laserbeak.

“- Star, let’s get out of here!” Thundercracker was shouting. “Do you want the fragging Autobots to show up here?!”

Starscream surged upwards with a screech, the humans crying out in pain as his jet wash threw them violently off of their pedes and reaching Laserbeak, who had never had any reason in her life to fear him, he swatted the casseticon out of the air. Ignoring Thundercracker’s protest, his mind made, Starscream rocketed for the southwest, Pitbent to go somewhere else, somewhere which wasn’t full of slagging Decepticons, somewhere… warm, safe and preferably high in elevation. He put everything that he had into it, knowing that Soundwave would be swiftly on their tails with Laserbeak down yet weirdly confident without any supporting evidence that his trine would look after him. He was aware of their distress and their confusion in the trinebond but he paid it no heed, concentrating fully on flying as far as he could away instead, his only fully realized thought being that they should have never have flown closer to the _Nemesis._

Yet… everything would be okay now. Everything would be fine. His trine was with him, (albeit trailing far behind, unable to catch him,) and his spark was fuzzing in that really nice way. He didn’t mind the weird chemically feeling in his tanks - he felt like that would pass, and that all he needed to do was find somewhere safe, somewhere good to rest, where the sun was warm.

It didn’t really cross his mind that he was defecting.

* * *

“STARRR! Fragging Pit - _STARR!”_ roared Thundercracker, pushing his frame through the air with everything that he had, yet somehow still completely unable to gain any distance on the tricoloured speck in front of them. Starscream wasn’t paying any attention whatsoever to their trinebond - his side of it was set bizarrely with a diamond hard purpose which Thundercracker had never felt from him before, even at Starscream’s most ridiculously adamant. His Winglord had always been demanding and high maintenance, but he had never done anything as insane as this - Thundercracker was intensely grateful that Skywarp had had the semblance of mind to snatch Laserbeak’s injured frame off of the muddy ground and set her somewhere that the humans couldn’t reach before the horrible organics damaged the casseticon more. He prayed that Laserbeak was badly injured enough to have corrupted data regarding how she had crashed, hoping that the casseticon wouldn’t remember at all being very deliberately smacked out of the air.

Starscream had lost his mind. Clearly, in the orns that they’d lost, the Autobots had done something to mess up his processor, and now Starscream had finally tipped over the brink. All the vorns of war had come to a head and Starscream had at last gone insane, something which he had probably been threatening to do ever since he had found out that he hadn’t gotten the coding he had wanted from royal creators-dearest.

“STARSCREAM, YOU ADDLED ROYAL DUMBAFT -” roared Thundercracker.

“TC,” protested Skywarp in a frightened squeak, and Thundercracker forced himself to consider the other facet of his bond - Skywarp’s, which was rife with fear. What was going to happen to them when Soundwave found out that Starscream had attacked Laserbeak? What would _Megatron_ do when Starscream not only didn’t go to his medical appointment, but disappeared for nearly half a decaorn then refused to come home, fragging off to Primus-knew-where instead? It had already been five groons since they had left the Eastern Seaboard and so far, Starscream was showing no inclination whatsoever about stopping. 

Thundercracker forced himself with some difficulty to stop screaming at Starscream for getting them into yet another completely avoidable and very dumb mess. It wasn’t Starscream’s fault that he was a prissy little brat prince who had never grown up - Thundercracker darkly blamed the beautiful idiot’s likely inbred forbearers.

“I hope he stops soon,” whimpered Skywarp, “I wanna turn around. Maybe if we apologize really nice everything’ll be okay.”

Thundercracker wondered briefly how his first trinemate managed to stay so adorably naïve, and he was trying to think up something placating to say when Skywarp twittered in delight, “TC, look! He’s landing!”

“Fragging finally,” growled Thundercracker, and had he been in his root mode, he would have frowned at the sight of Starscream diving down onto the ground beside a lake. He transformed and landed behind Starscream, grateful to be off of his wings, and followed Starscream into some thankfully very tall trees. Relieved to have some cover, he bared his claws, ready to fight with Starscream physically if he had to in order to rest control over the situation and skidded to a halt as he found the seeker curled up wedged between several trees in a purring ball, acting for all the world like he was actually somehow miraculously comfortable.

“Star, why -” sputtered Skywarp, almost running into Thundercracker, then freezing just as he had, Thundercracker almost involuntarily shoving his olfactory sensor into the air, sucking in deep vents of air which had been perfumed richly with Starscream. The little tricolour peered at them lazily, optics half shuttered, almost seeming smug as they both noisily drew in his scent which seemed to haze Thundercracker’s processor. 

“Ngn, f-frag, Star,” moaned Skywarp, “why do you smell so _good?”_

“I dunno,” said Starscream, uncurling from his ball and laying wontedly upon his back, stretching luxuriously as if he was laying on the finest of berths, like the one he’d had in Vos when they had met him, the one which they had trined him on. Thundercracker felt his gaze drawn uncontrollably to his royal mate’s crotch, and for some reason he couldn’t make himself look away. Instead he found himself scenting more, then going down into a crouch as he surveyed Starscream, who watched him benevolently without appearing to have any problem with what he was about to do. A scuffling reminded him of Skywarp, and Thundercracker whirled, growling a warning which Skywarp returned.

“W-what are we doing?” asked Thundercracker, through gritted, bared denta.

“I-I dunno, but I wanna ‘face Star first! You had him first last time!” snapped Skywarp, fine black wings flared.

“No, he’s mine,” hissed Thundercracker, and he stated his claim by crouching over Starscream, who apparently agreed with him because he nuzzled up against him affectionately, his field bizarrely permissive. “Skywarp, you can have him after - right now _wait.”_

“I don’t want to wait!” growled Skywarp. 

“You are waiting! I am dominant!” snapped Thundercracker, wings fully extended in a display which he had never once turned on his first mate before. Skywarp glanced at it, then his wings fell and Thundercracker returned to the critical business of restraining Starscream, pinning the smaller seeker so that he couldn’t escape (not that it seemed that Starscream wanted to,) then deliciously mounting him, moaning with relief the klik that he got his spike sheathed in the smaller seeker’s quivering valve. It felt crazily good, perhaps even better than he remembered and he set a quick tempo, _needing_ a good overload more than anything after all that flying, especially after onlining in the desert of all places. Starscream was oddly unresisting in his arms, not even remotely coy, just flat out submissive as he had never been in his entire life. The idiot was even purring and Thundercracker sighed in profound relief as he emptied his spike into him, Starscream reacting to their surprisingly gentle overload with a happy, gasping trill. 

Skywarp barely gave Thundercracker a chance to back away before he was stealing Starscream from him, and Thundercracker sat on his aft, watching in bemusement as Skywarp enthusiastically interfaced with their weirdly behaving mate. Frowning, he noted their filthy surroundings, and finding that there was a significant amount of silver transfluid on his inner thigh as well as his spike, he made to draw a cloth from his subspace but something internal which he couldn’t recognize stopped him. Instead he shifted the cloth back away, then twitched as his mates overloaded, Starscream laying in a dazed, heavily panting sprawl, limbs completely askew, legs gaping wide. After a few kliks, the Winglord roused himself from his undignified splay, then rather dazedly clambered over to Thundercracker, where he proceeded to lick the drying transfluid off of his spike and legs.

“Um, Star, are you okay?” Thundercracker managed to ask, absolutely bewildered. Starscream didn’t usually like tasting transfluid, yet now here he was, lapping it up as if it were energon, seeming completely unopposed to it, his side of the bond eerily content. Weirdly unaroused by what Starscream was doing despite the intimacy of it, Thundercracker grimaced and stared even harder as the small seeker proceeded to pay a winded Skywarp the same service when he was done. Apparently satisfied, and tired, Starscream returned to Thundercracker and curled up needily against his side where within the klik he was recharging with his helm tucked under his wing, something about his pose making Thundercracker want to hold him in his arms. Barely had this thought flickered through his mind then he was laying beside Starscream then cuddling him, covering him with a protective wing, Skywarp doing the same on Starscream’s other side.

“TC, what’s going on?” whispered Skywarp uncertainly. “Are we defecting, or…?

Thundercracker grimaced; the same something which had kept him from cleaning himself seemed to be preventing him from shaking Starscream back awake to demand answers. “I… don’t know, Warp.”

“What are we going to do for fuel?” whispered Skywarp worriedly. “Are we going to join the Autobots? We’d never do that, would we? What would happen to our seekers?”

“I really have no idea, Warp,” said Thundercracker, gazing at the beautiful, softly slumbering form curled up between them. Had Starscream ever been so pretty? He had always been magnificent yes, but for some reason there was something extra endearing about the pesky seeker now, something which made Thundercracker want to nuzzle him and feed him mass quantities of treats. He felt like Starscream _needed_ to be snuggled and kept warm, so he pressed closer to the soft plating, ex-venting, “Take first watch, Warp, and online me in two joors.”

“What about Star?” asked Skywarp.

“He’s not keeping watch,” said Thundercracker, rubbing his olfactory sensor against Starscream in tired affection. “I don’t know why… but he isn’t. Doesn’t… doesn’t feel unfair…”

Skywarp eyed him curiously and Thundercracker pushed his face against Starscream, his spark resonating happily as he noted distantly, without any glyphs, that Skywarp felt the same.

* * *

Starscream came awake in his usual fashion; blanketed by a sleeping Skywarp who was draped atop him, possessive and heavy. This was comforting, until he noticed that they weren’t in their nest, that nothing around them was familiar; sappy, strong smelling tall trees surrounded them, their needles making a pathetic effort at cushion beneath the seekers’ frames. He sniffed, drawing in their spicy odour, and remembered the orn previous with a discomforted fluff of his plating. Whining uncertainly, he twitched as he found himself being immediately nuzzled quiet by Thundercracker, who settled back on his other side, in on their snuggle, yet uncharacteristically fully awake, keenly watching their surroundings with lambent optics, Starscream completely enclosed between him and Skywarp. Reassured that both of his mates were with him, as if this were all that he needed in the universe, Starscream relaxed and let Thundercracker press against him lovingly, his still-fuzzing spark so happy just because both of his mates were there protecting him.

For at least another joor he lay there, tired and content until his fuel tank bothered him. Scraping his way out from under Skywarp, who finally onlined reluctantly with a groan, he dug in his subspace, looking for the supply which he always kept there. Relieved to find that he had several cubes, he hungrily sipped at them, then curiously looked around, belatedly realizing that he had drank all of his stash without it making any proper dent on his hunger. Knowing that he would have to do something about this, he stood and stretched, fanning his wings as he caught the warm night time air currents. Hissing at the planet’s short orns, the _Nemesis_ having followed proper Cybertronian ones which would have seen them waking in the morning, he tried to judge what the local time was, since it might factor into their acquisition of fuel.

“Star, love, what are we doing?”

Starscream paused mid lazy scratch of his belly, which felt bizarrely like it was frothing on the inside and looked at his mates, finding them peculiarly expectant. Wondering vaguely why they were asking, he peered at the sky again, servos still lingering around his midriff as he smelled the air, drawing in all the interesting organic odours which he usually didn’t have the time to examine. Usually whenever he wasn’t on the _Nemesis_ he was wholly occupied with whatever mission he was leading, be it reconnaissance or attack, and he had not had a chance to really just enjoy the organic life of the planet since…

…since the very first time he had ever been there, long before the war, and before his trine. Before Skyfire had gone missing.

“Star? Please, tell me you have a plan, tell me you have a reason for attacking Laserbeak and abandoning the _Nemesis,”_ pleaded Thundercracker. “Please, I know that you’re Winglord, but if you have fallen off your -”

Starscream registered that his glitch was _challenging him_ and pounced, Thundercracker yelping as he sat growling on him. Ignoring Thundercracker’s ridiculous attempts to shove him off, and discovering (not for the first time,) that Thundercracker was warm, Starscream curled up on top of him, pleased with his improvised berth, Thundercracker crying, “- Star! What the frag! I am not challenging you, Warp and I just need answers!”

Lies! Starscream stretched out and purred to himself, Skywarp apparently finding this funny as he giggled unhelpfully. Strong blue arms wrapped around him, Thundercracker groaning, “What are you even doing? This isn’t pinning.”

“I think it’s your lap all over again, TC,” giggled Skywarp. “Remember?”

“Primus help me,” moaned Thundercracker, but to Starscream’s great satisfaction the glitch hugged him then rubbed his wing, which was ridiculously soothing, so Starscream started considering the merits of yet more recharge. Skywarp came to hug him too, and Starscream glowed between them, ecstatic to be worshipped properly the way that he deserved. Thundercracker cupped his cheek and beamed at him, “I don’t get it, why are we happy?”

“Dunno,” admitted Starscream.

“Do you at least know why we’re here instead of at home on the Nemesis?” asked Thundercracker hopefully.

Starscream bared his denta, admitting, “No. The _Nemesis_… doesn’t feel right. I don’t want to be there. Don’t want Megatron.”

His mates brightened in apparent understanding, completely missing whatever Starscream’s point was (he honestly didn’t have any idea what it was either.)

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” sighed Thundercracker, “but is it really smart… defecting like this? Are we defecting?”

Starscream stared at him as internally, several different sides of his processor immediately disagreed and he was left simply confused. “I don’t know.”

The silence following this very official, very royal statement rang like an atomic detonation. 

“Y-you don’t?!” hiccupped Thundercracker.

“No,” said Starscream, shifting so that he could scratch at his discontented belly again. He abruptly pulled free of Thundercracker with a fluff of his plating and began trotting away, ignoring their cries for information because Primus damnit, couldn’t they _feel_ how hungry he was in the bond? Plus, it wouldn’t stay dark for long, and they needed to make distance - he took off, feeling better as the cool night air flushed around his wings. He could feel his mates’ continued confusion in their bond, but he moved forwards with swift purpose, banking sharply when he saw what he was looking for. 

At every human settlement that he had ever encountered thus far, there had been a refuelling station. The streets of the town were silent below except for the odd dog bark as the four legged organics, smarter than their masters, attempted fruitlessly to alarm the settlement of the danger passing overhead. Starscream landed with a brief firing of his thrusters once he transformed, and he stalked nimbly into the quiet gas station, casually shooting it from a distance with a null ray. Out of energon cubes, he did what he had had to do in the past when Megatron had failed to feed them, something which never tasted especially pleasant, but which had at least always kept him going. With a slash of a claw he got the pungent petroleum flowing and he drank hungrily of the fluid, finally filling his fuel tank as his mates hurried up.

“Starscream, what -” began Thundercracker, skidding to a halt and staring.

“Fuel up, we need to move,” growled Starscream, licking his lips and preferring the severed hose which was still gushing flammable liquid to Skywarp.

“’kay,” chirped Skywarp, beginning to drink without complaining.

“Star - that slag stinks, can’t we just -” Thundercracker seemed to stop talking as he registered that Starscream was not listening, that he had in fact just discovered the tiny bottles of liquid which the humans had set out in some kind of retail display. Biting into them, he was rewarded with oil, the stuff just as disgusting as the petroleum, yet something within him coveted it, so he consumed several, then abruptly stalked to the roadside, where sand banked against the pavement. He scratched at it, examining it, then he tasted it and flicked his wings irritably when it didn’t pass muster (whatever the muster was, Starscream lacking any conscious idea regarding what he was doing.)

“TC, why is he eating weird scrap?” whispered Skywarp, both of them almost visibly reeking of petroleum just like Starscream now.

“Primus, Warp, I don’t know!” complained Thundercracker. He made an unpleasant gagging sound, “Ugngh! I s-swore I’d never drink that slag again - Star!”

“Where are we going now, Star?” yelped Skywarp as Starscream rose on his thrusters, watching with distant vague amusement as he accidentally ignited a few drops of petroleum.

“Away,” decided Starscream, and indeed, away they went, his trine complaining with every additional hic which separated them from the _Nemesis._ Starscream didn’t get why he was flying the way that he was flying, but something within him justified it, quieting the logical part of his processor which screamed that he was being exactly as strange as his trinemates complained that he was. He landed once or twice, both times in places which had sand, then he took off again in no particular direction, ever roving, ever searching for something impossible which wasn’t at all defined. Whatever it was that he looked for, he_ needed_ it but he also needed rest, so half an orn later, with no apparent pursuit, he curled up in a ravine for much needed recharge.

“I guess we’re defecting,” concluded Skywarp uneasily as they tucked themselves around him, and unable to correct him, because that did seem to be what they were doing, Starscream fell asleep wondering dispassionately why exactly he was throwing the life they had built away.

But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t aware of what did matter, but whatever it was, it had nothing to do with the Decepticons, with the _Nemesis,_ or Megatron and he drifted into recharge softly focused on the cheerful fuzzy feeling in his spark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold your horses, y'all, Megs and Sounders are inbound!


	13. Rainmakers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out what the hold up is with the Decepticons, Soundwave longs for retirement, Megatron needs to have his driver's license taken away and Acid Storm sounds like Pre Vizla from 'STAR WARS: The Clone Wars' in my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! They are appreciated! :)

“WHERE IS THAT SLAGGING SEEKER?” roared Megatron, fists clenched, fusion canon humming and using excessive energy for no reason. His once keen processor was black with rage, and Soundwave reflected sadly that he deeply missed the old Megatron, the proud, deeply intelligent former gladiator who had called so many to his magnificent banner of hope. Not all was well with the warlord - pain wracked his functioning as never before, and in his calmer moments, Soundwave had witnessed that Megatron was aware that he was slipping. Thus his insane plan to spark Starscream to create a legacy - despite Soundwave trying to politely explain the circumstances, the old tankformer was obsessed with the notion. Megatron had always admired Starscream - from the first moment that the seeker’s graceful shadow had fallen across him in Kaon and Megatron had looked up to see the handsome, tricoloured flight frame perched above him on a broken wall. 

Seekers were a fetching species, Soundwave agreed, but the problem with seekers was their greatest strength - they _trined._ Megatron had known this since that first time seeing Starscream, when Thundercracker and Skywarp had followed their leader to the ground, protecting his flanks, yet somehow, so many centravorns later, he still didn’t get it. Megatron seriously believed that a trine was just a unit, like a squadron or a battalion - but Soundwave knew well what trines really were. Sometimes, in the darkest moments of the war, when he had needed reassurance that there was still light in the galaxy, he had found peace in being near the Decepticon seeker population because no matter how awful things were, seekers never failed to adore their trinemates.

Soundwave had long decided not to tell Megatron that his fiercest warriors were, in fact, beautifully affectionate. He had let the mech keep his delusions of what trines were, because perhaps selfishly, Soundwave had wanted to preserve what the trines of the _Nemesis_ had. Besides, even soldiers deserved to have some mundane nuance of a private life, and while there was little privacy to be found on a warship, Soundwave refrained from speaking of the harmless thoughts which he overheard. Unless they were up to something treasonous, Megatron didn’t need to know how that the seekers spent most of their free time cuddling, or that the Constructicons liked dancing in the medical bay to old classical music when nobody else was around. Nor did he need to be made aware that Thundercracker and Skywarp were not, in fact, Starscream’s bodyguards as the seeker had always tried to pretend until quite recently, but his conjunx endurae.

And he wasn’t sure how to make Megatron understand - since he refused to listen - why forcing himself on a conjunxed mech was wrong. Depressingly, it seemed that the warlord had gotten too used to his life or death power over their soldiers, and he had forgotten much of what had made their cause great in the first place. Soundwave wasn’t sure anymore how to breach the topic that Megatron was making decisions which were making their troops resent him - especially the frequently hungry seekers, whom Soundwave had repeatedly attempted to inform Megatron needed far more fuel than the warlord was allotting them.

It was for this exact reason that Soundwave had turned a blind optic to Starscream’s semi-regular private energon raids, because he couldn’t blame the air commander for needing to keep his soldiers properly fed. Besides, as he had _again_ tried to tell Megatron, their flight frames were their greatest asset, so they needed to be kept strong and if Megatron was not going to make an effort to do that, then Soundwave was not about to tattle when a frustrated Starscream did what was only right.

Soundwave, who had felt the resentment of their air force many times, was himself beginning to feel the toll of the war, to the point where he had begun softly internally questioning why they were still even fighting. What were they _doing?_ Cybertron as they had known it was_ gone_ and their very scant population dwindled with every vorn. With their planet razed, and no fuel sources on their current one, their primary onboard scientist (Starscream,) too taxed by military duties to figure out a solution for their fuel crisis besides raiding, (plus now Megatron wanted to burden the poor seeker with a sparkling which was in severe danger of being aborted by Starscream’s angry kin who were insulted by the idea,) what was the _point?_ Survival? Soundwave had done his time merely surviving in the gladiatorial ring - he had no use for such slag now. Now, he was tired, and like Megatron he was getting old, so he found himself more and more wishing that the war would end so that he could spend the rest of his vorns teaching his beloved creations that there was more to life than just fighting.

And now Laserbeak was injured, in critical condition, and Soundwave feared that she wouldn’t last the night, yet all Megatron cared about was that the seeker he had threatened to rape was missing in action (how surprising, not. Soundwave would have made himself scarce too.)

“SOUNDWAVE!” snarled Megatron, not seeming to possess any sympathy whatsoever for Soundwave’s position even as Soundwave stood by the window looking into the medical bay, worried about his precious casseticon. Of course, he knew that he was needed elsewhere, but it pained his spark so dearly whenever one of his creations was badly hurt. “Has Buzzsaw returned yet?!”

“Buzzsaw: has not returned. Megatron: will be informed when he does,” said Soundwave crossly. “Decepticons: should be safe where we are, so long as flight tower is not raised.”

“How else are we supposed to fend off those slagging pests above us then?” growled Megatron.

Ah, yes, their current issue; Soundwave glanced at the ceiling as if he could see the gigantic aircraft carrier and its companion ships which were holding position above them. Apparently the Decepticons had overstayed their welcome at their current position and the humans were trying to destroy them. It was rude, but so far the _Nemesis’_ sophisticated shielding was holding just fine against their pathetic if annoying depth charges and torpedoes. Knowing the number of human fighter craft lurking above, Soundwave was not about to advise sending the seekers on the attack. Unfortunately, apart from Buzzsaw, Ravage, and a few other mecha who were all unfortunately ground frames, they didn’t have anyone above ready to make a counterattack. Just as problematically, with the _Nemesis_ damaged beyond repair and stationary, there was no way to move the ship to point its missile tubes up at their enemy. Theoretically they still had their turrets, but as far as Soundwave knew, turbolasers didn’t work underwater.

“Suggestion: hold war meeting,” said Soundwave.

“Obviously!” snarled Megatron. “Where is that fragging seeker when I need him? So little loyalty!”

Soundwave gave Megatron a flat stare - was he really expecting a mech whom he had flat out told that he was going to violate to be _loyal?_

“What?” snapped Megatron.

“Megatron: needs to consider the consequences of his actions more,” suggested Soundwave.

Megatron frowned, his processor jogging along painfully as he tried to figure out without success what he could have possibly have done wrong according to his current, very warped worldview. “I don’t get what you’re implying, Soundwave.”

Sad. There had been a time when Megatron would have understood, and never would have suggested such cruelty to one of his most faithful followers. Back at the beginning of the war, there probably would have been carrier-coded mecha falling over each other to create Megatron’s sparkling, but these orns carriers were practically extinct. Soundwave was one, but he had no intention of telling Megatron that, and Starscream, who had once been one of Megatron’s biggest fans, had grown suitably frustrated with Megatron’s leadership. Thus, the assassination attempts, which Soundwave would have almost sympathized with if he wasn’t still desperately holding on to the trace of friendship which he still possessed with Megatron.

“Megatron: needs to focus on human problem,” sighed Soundwave. With Laserbeak hurt, he felt too tired to try explaining again and to his relief Megatron conceded, then stomped off just as Hook turned, giving Soundwave an ‘all clear’ gesture through the window. Soundwave ex-vented, and it took all of his composure not to sag against the glass; Laserbeak was going to be alright. She was going to be okay, and soon perhaps Soundwave would know how she had been injured. Buzzsaw had found her on top of a building, precariously surrounded by angry humans, and he had barely managed to rescue her without getting hurt himself. She had born deep lacerations which did not look human caused, which had stumped Hook and Soundwave. The lacerations had almost caused her to bleed out, the cuts having cut through some of her internal workings, nearly slashing right through to her spark chamber.

Soundwave turned away; he could deal with Megatron and the humans now that Laserbeak was safe. In the war room, worried mecha were gathering and trying not to make optical contact with Megatron, who was absolutely glowering from his seat. Feeling distinctly tired, Soundwave sat down in his own and waited for the room to settle, then listened as Megatron growled out the facts - that they were being besieged by a group of life forms whose natural lifespans barely spanned a single vorn but who were still a problem because the _Nemesis_ didn’t have enough energon for the crew to sit here twiddling their thumbs that long. 

Soundwave keenly pointed out that short lifespan usually meant a short attention span; they could probably outlast the humans even with what they had. All they really had to do was sit and wait - the humans would go away eventually, either because they themselves ran out of supplies, or they started doubting that there was really an enemy beneath them. In any case, waiting was the best plan - it was a zero casualty plan. For all they knew, the commonly nasty weather of the Atlantic would chase the humans off before even a decaorn was out anyway.

“I am not waiting for those slagging vermin to move their afts, Soundwave!” snarled Megatron. “What if the Autobots gain the upper servo while we’re sitting here for a metacycle?”

“Autobots: unlikely to advance much in technology,” noted Soundwave. “The _Ark_ is too damaged for them to fix it anytime soon.”

“Lord Megatron, I think we simply need more firepower!” exclaimed Onslaught. “What if we brought over Acid Storm and some other seekers from Cybertron? Acid Storm’s got the credentials to lead the Air Force while Screamer’s MIA and his spark sigma would devastate the slagging vermin up top!”

“Decepticons: should just wait this out, conserve energon, wait for bad weather to take care of the problem -” pressed Soundwave, dearly wishing that they would listen.

“No, no, Onslaught, I believe that you have something there,” said Megatron enthusiastically. “Those humans won’t stand a chance against _all_ of our seekers! And I’ll need another seeker to take over while Starscream is carrying the Decepticon heir anyway - this is perfect!”

It wasn’t perfect at all and Soundwave sighed, supposing that perhaps he should just let Megatron find out why on his own.

* * *

The stunning golden sunset over Vos seemed to illuminate exactly how ruined the city was, yet for Acid Storm it also drew into sharp attention the fact that amongst the rubble of his destroyed home, there was life returning. A toss of a broken piece of concrete disturbed a very healthy turbofox, which ran away yipping, several young ones hurrying in its wake. Leaping to a better vantage point, Acid Storm ruffled his plating and watched the turbofoxes until they were gone, the mechanimals not just surviving, but thriving enough to reproduce. Around him lay the shattered remnants of Vosian civilization, the great spiral towers which had once stood tall and shining, pieces of the mecha themselves who had not made a fortunate escape like him, like the other survivors, like his Winglord. Acid Storm fanned his wings in a mixture of satisfaction and agitation because now he knew: Cybertron was coming back to life, yet none of the common Decepticons knew it.

It could be a good time for Seeker-kind to defect, if he could only convince his Winglord. Acid Storm thought of how few they were, then the turbofox’s kits, and his processor shifted to his carrier-mate Nova Storm, how if he could get things to shift, in a vorn or so even he might be able to take advantage of his beloved mate’s heat, sparking new Seeker life as he had once before long ago. The grounders seemed to be on their way out of existence, but the population index of Acid Storm’s kind was still high enough that perhaps they could save themselves - and ironically create a Cybertron which was theirs alone, given how the Functionists had once sought to exterminate their kind.

Acid Storm smugly bared his denta - he felt he’d gotten his revenge for that many times over. There wasn’t a single true Functionist left anywhere in the galaxy - Decepticon might had seen to that, and those which were left weren’t the zealots who had made the need for the war. The ones who were left were just idiots who hated seekers because seekers were plainly better than them.

The sun dimmed and a trill drew his attention, Acid Storm turning, wings lifted in fondness as his trinemates scrambled up to join him on his perch then press against him, quietly reaffirming their bond for a klik. He draped a possessive arm around Nova Storm’s waist, wanting so badly to follow the example of the fortunate sire-turbofox and Ion Storm’s faintly jealous huff reminded him that Nova Storm wasn’t anywhere near his heat yet. He cured his blue mate’s sulking with a nuzzle, then Ion Storm proceeded to be a snicker-causing glitch by stealing Nova Storm away from him, pretending that he vastly preferred their yellow mate over him. Acid Storm called his bluff with a pounce and the last rays of sunset saw them play fighting in the ruins of their country.

Panting, and considerably warmer than he had been before, his wheezing trinemates tangled together in a satisfied mess of limbs, Acid Storm alighted back on his perch, where he reluctantly observed the time. Almost, he didn’t want to go, but the few joors of quiet time which he had stolen for his trine couldn’t last, and his Winglord was expecting him - never mind Shockwave, or the cranky (Bitstream sneered _senile_ in messages,) warlord Megatron. He trilled to his trine to rouse them and when he took off they were reluctantly with him, watching sadly with their sensors as Vos fell away below them.

Darkmount was thankfully far from their beloved home, the distance protecting it from most of Shockwave’s designs, so Acid Storm took advantage of the time to muddle over his proposal to the Winglord based on what he had seen over the past centravorn. It wouldn’t do to sound traitorous to the Decepticon cause knowing how loyal to it his Winglord was - but at the same time, the seekers had remained their own entity all throughout the war, and there were encouraging whispers that the Winglord was frustrated with Megatron - had even tried to kill him a few times to wrest control.

Everything Acid Storm saw said that change was on the winds, and he felt distinctly good as he banked into Darkmount airspace. Below the plains at the fortress’ pedes swarmed with terracons and other nasties, but they were simple things which could easily be exterminated with the right weapon. Under the shadow of his passing trine the peons shrank, cowering in his wake, reminding Acid Storm that he commanded the skies of Darkmount. His powerful spark gift - beautifully matched with his trinemates’ - was the perfect thing to inspire fear in the nasties below, who were powerless to do more than quake in fear of it. It was the reason why Shockwave demanded of Megatron that Acid Storm’s trine be kept close, the one-eyed tankformer’s own formidable guard detail - they were Darkmount’s Cerberus.

But they were Seeker first, and hiss of logic as he might, Acid Storm and his trine belonged to Vos - along with its lone remaining, often maligned, frequently feared, clever Winglord.

He landed on the launch platform as Darkmount’s other assigned seeker trines swooped in to join his wake and stalked inside, confident that they would follow him. They did, eager to fly in different skies, to be away from Shockwave who sometimes caught the unwary for experiments, and Acid Storm led the way eagerly to the brig, where the reluctant prize he’d found for his Winglord waited.

“Hey, you! Green freak with wings! When yah gonna let us out? We’re Decepticons too!” 

Acid Storm disdainfully ignored the roaring fury known as Rampage and proceeded to the motionless entity known as Razorclaw, the gestalt leader of the Predacons. Within the solitary cell, Razorclaw watched him quietly, and Acid Storm was glad that the Predacon wasn’t his to personally command. He twitched his wings in an insult aimed at the ugly grounder which only his seekers understood and smiled congenially as behind him there were amused flitters, “Razorclaw, are you ready for a hunt?”

The other Predacons, who had begun shouting, instantly went silent, except for Divebomb who had been quiet in the first place and just kept grinning eerily. Razorclaw stood, optics narrowed and demanded, “What’s our prey, outlier freak?”

“That’s ‘Acid Storm,’ ground frame,” sneered Acid Storm. “Have you heard of the Autobot combiner Superion? My liege Starscream and our leader Lord Megatron offer him to you as prey. You can kill the combiner Defensor too.”

An eager hush fell over the Predacons, and an unpleasant glint sparked in Razorclaw’s optic. “Fine. We’d be happy to.”

“Especially if it means gettin’ outta here!” shrieked Rampage.

“Very good,” said Acid Storm, stepping away, to the energy bar controls and triggering them away, freeing the Predacons. Razorclaw stepped out coolly, the others following a moment later from their own cells and Acid Storm started walking, trusting them to follow him for the want of the hunt. His sense of their desire was proven quickly accurate as they trailed behind him in a pack, the rowdier members excitedly demanding where they were going until Razorclaw snapped at them to be silent. Acid Storm’s trine had already concluded that Razorclaw was a particularly creepy grounder, and he was grimly pleased as Ion Storm very subtly kept Nova Storm away from all of the Predacons. Other trines did the same, freeing Acid Storm up to keep up appearances as he led the way to the space bridge, where Shockwave glared at them belligerently out of his solitary optic.

Empurata weirdly suited the grounder, Acid Storm had always thought.

“I find this plan illogical, Darkmount requires aerial security; Starscream hardly needs all of you -” complained Shockwave.

“And yet he has decided that he does,” growled Acid Storm, spreading his wings to show Shockwave their full impressive span. “We move at his command first and foremost, tankformer, but I’m sure that we’ll be back soon.”

Shockwave, lacking the telepathy of Soundwave, muttered resentfully and powered up the spacebridge, only obeying because it was also Megatron’s orders. The portal swirled before them and Acid Storm chirped to his troops, sending them through before him to keep Megatron from refusing their entry, only following when the last one had stepped through. He made sure that his trine entered first, then he let the predacons walk in with him and after a moment of supreme discomfort within the portal, he stood in the damp, dark interior of the crashed Nemesis, which smelled distinctly of rust. A nearby viewport was scummed over, and the air had quite a lot more moisture in it than Acid Storm liked. He looked around, expecting to see Megatron, and saw Soundwave flanked by the Stunticons and some other ground frame grunts. The only seeker trine present was Hotlink’s and Acid Storm knew instantaneously that something was wrong from the trine’s frame language.

Acid Storm narrowed his optics and flared his wings at Hotlink in demand, wanting explanation, at which Soundwave reminded them just how creepy he was by droning, “Air Commander Starscream: missing. Reason unknown.”

“What has happened?” growled Acid Storm, ignoring the impatient shifting of the predacons behind him as the space bridge powered down.

“Starscream: went to personally investigate an anomaly with the Autobots and has not returned,” said Soundwave. Rather tiredly he added, “Lord Megatron: upset.”

“What do you mean?” asked Acid Storm uncertainly.

“Lord Megatron: will tell you at some point this orn. He is… busy,” said Soundwave and after detaching the predacons to the telepath Acid Storm sought the flight deck, needing answers before the tankformer said his piece from mecha whom he trusted more. Stepping out of the lift, his seekers whom he had brought from Cybertron eagerly dispersed across the room, to greeting trills from the ones stationed on Earth. Acid Storm held back, studying the Earth mecha, noting how uneasy they seemed, and that Dirge looked like he had a healing wing, the injury looking like the result of brute force rather than incendiary. Nowhere, anywhere, was the Royal Trine, and most tellingly of all, the wannabe pretender Slipstream was smirking as if plotting a political move.

A silent check with his trine confirmed his observations, and Acid Storm whistled to get the flight deck’s attention, calling in Vosian, “Mecha! Where is our Winglord and Royal Trine?”

Smiles fell off faces swifter than calving ice. Even the two triple changers who were always there looked uncomfortable and Acid Storm had the distinct sense that they’d all been suffering since the Winglord had gone missing.

“The Coneheads saw them last!” cried Bitstream, shoving Dirge forwards.

“Hey! Stop calling us that!” snarled Thrust.

“Then have less stupid looking helms,” said Trickshot.

“They’re not -” hissed Ramjet.

“Quiet,” hissed Acid Storm, lacking any patience for this. “Tell me where our Winglord and Royal Trine is, we are responsible for their safety.”

“No, we’re not,” snapped Slipstream.

“Quiet!” roared Acid Storm, threat canting his wings, and all went quiet. He turned to Dirge, “Report what happened.”

“Thundercracker -” Acid Storm interrupted Dirge with a _tsk_, “- _Lord_ Thundercracker, sorry, sir, sent my trine a summons. They had left to personally investigate something which one of the casseticons had seen and when we rendezvoused with the Royals, we learned that Lord Thundercracker and Lord Skywarp had lost contact with Winglord Starscream. He was missing, had been for a couple of orns, so we set about helping them look for him as ordered, but it was like he’d vanished - he was nowhere in that desert. We were in the middle of discussing searching further afield ‘cus Screamer -” Dirge saw Acid Storm’s glare and corrected himself, “’cus _His Majesty_ obviously wasn’t there when something wonky happened with his trine.”

Acid Storm flicked a wing, “Define ‘wonky’ if you please, Dirge.”

Dirge grimaced, “They… they stiffened up as if they heard something and both of them looked off in the same direction - we figured the Winglord was calling to them, so we were relieved, ‘cept their behaviour was really weird. I think they just stood and stared off into space without saying a glyph for at least a breem, then Lord Thundercracker told us to go back to the _Nemesis_ but his tone didn’t seem right; he was really distracted. I didn’t get a chance to ask what was going on though because Lord Skywarp decided to do his thing then and he took Lord Thundercracker with him. We couldn’t follow them, so we followed orders and returned here.”

“The lords were thinking that the Winglord got stolen by the Autobots because they had been in the area but the only signs we found of that were what looked like some shuttle tracks and a few tire marks,” supplied Ramjet.

“And how long has it been since you were in contact with Lord Thundercracker and Lord Skywarp?” asked Acid Storm, his wings twitching as something in his spark hissed that something was _wrong._

“It’s been orns, sir, and it’s going on a decaorn since the Winglord was home,” said Thrust. “Buckethelm is real mad, sir.” Acid Storm didn’t miss the glance he gave Dirge’s wing, which Dirge flicked away self-protectively, “He wasn’t happy when we returned without them.”

“There’s more, Acid Storm,” said Hotlink, the entire flight deck abruptly gaining an uncomfortable hush. “Before His Majesty went missing, Buckethelm had ordered him to carry his heir. He wanted to refute our sovereignty, and he’s been hurting the Winglord more ever since the _Nemesis_ crashed here.”

Acid Storm stiffened and he had to internally refute his spark gift twice before he managed to get a handle on how much this news enraged him. Their sovereignty within the faction was the only thing keeping their kind relatively alive - and for Megatron to so much as imply forcing himself upon a _trined_ mech, _any_ trined mech but especially _that_ one -

“That is unacceptable,” snapped Acid Storm, clenching his fists, his wings shaking.

“Exactly, so honestly we’re a bit glad the Royal Trine hasn’t come back, ‘cus the Winglord missed the appointment for an exam with Hook which Buckethelm forced on him and Buckethelm’s right slagged off,” said Nacelle.

“We tried to suggest that the Winglord get himself sparked by his trine instead, but he wouldn’t have it,” said Hotlink.

“You want sparklings of any kind _here?”_ snorted Blitzwing, his Vosian heavily accented.

“That’s _seekerlings,_ Blitz,” corrected Ramjet.

“I feel that Primus protects the Winglord by keeping him away,” said Sunstorm reverently. “If he’s not here, Buckethelm cannot hurt him.”

Acid Storm glanced at his trine and made up his mind, “Grab all the energon which we have cached in here and subspace it, the Winglord must be found.”

“Buckethelm won’t let us go, and there’s a problem up above -” said Astrotrain.

“Do it!” snapped Acid Storm and to his relief they followed his orders. He turned away, watching the flight deck lift doors, and he twitched his wings up as they opened. Everyone froze as the subject of their conversation stepped onto the flight deck, looking every bit as enraged and off kilter as everyone had said that he was. The old tankformer absolutely quivered with rage, and Acid Storm couldn’t blame his mecha for backing away at the sight of him, vulnerable wings flicked back protectively, but he stood his ground, flaring his own. Behind him, Nova Storm and Ion Storm held steady at his flanks in silent support, giving him the nerve to calmly declare in Kaonian, “Lord Megatron, sir. What can I do for you?”

“You can rid us of the fleet of pests above us which is holding us siege,” snarled Megatron. “There is an aircraft carrier and ten other human warships - _get rid of them.”_

“Of course, right away, my lord,” said Acid Storm, trying very hard not to smile as he bowed. “The aliens will pose little threat to us.”

Megatron glared at them all, then he left as if yelling that order had been all that he intended to do. Finally letting his fury quiver in his wings as the lift doors shut, Acid Storm waited until he was certain that Megatron was gone before turning back to the flight deck.

“Well, mecha? Looks like we have permission to leave the _Nemesis,”_ smirked Acid Storm.

* * *

“THOSE SLAGGING SEEKERS! What are they _doing?”_ cried Megatron an orn later, after a torpedo very blatantly declared that the humans were, in fact, still there. “Where the slag are they and why haven’t they fragging _attacked_ yet?! They should have routed the problem joors ago!”

Soundwave felt sorry for Megatron, but he also considered the situation his own damned fault and it irritated him that Megatron had not seen this coming. “Seekers: looking for their winglord.”

“What? I told them to attack the _humans,_ not go flit off after slagging Starscream!” hissed Megatron.

“Seekers: are loyal first to Starscream,” Soundwave saw fit to remind him.

“Exactly why I want him to carry my heir!” snapped Megatron. “I would have their full allegiance then -”

“Seekers: would abort your heir as they would consider its existence sacrilege,” said Soundwave. “Seekers: angry at Megatron for even suggesting sparking a trined mech.”

“Loyal Decepticons would never do that,” snapped Megatron, but that was exactly the point, Soundwave thought - the seekers weren’t loyal, and Megatron’s actions were making them less so by the orn.

“Suggestion: either wait out human siege, or find new plan for getting rid of humans,” said Soundwave. Megatron snarled something about Shockwave and stalked off, leaving Soundwave alone on the flight deck. He walked over to the bulkhead where he knew the seekers kept their contraband energon and opened it up, gazing without any surprise whatsoever at the empty store.

He closed it, and returned to the medical bay, wishing distinctly that he could stop dealing with this slag.


	14. The Unexpected Flight Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrier coding changes everything as Starscream and his trine survive on a world devoid of natural energon.

Skyfire stared up at his ceiling, still running the incredible news over in his processor, the scientific proof that not only was his amica endura trined, but now the little seeker was sparked. It felt rude that Starscream didn’t know about it - that he was going to discover it slowly as time went on, and Skyfire tried to stifle his nausea regarding the different ways that he imagined that Starscream might react to the news, to Skyfire, once he found out that he was responsible for it. Skyfire attempted to justify it again, but found himself shuddering at the insane fact that because of his crazy plan, his plan which might kill his best friend when the horrible warlord he served found out, there were three desperately vulnerable tiny new lives in the world who would likely be born into a war, if they were allowed to be born at all.

Unable to stare at his ceiling any longer, he sat up and stared at his door instead. Was the warlord Megatron really as awful as the Autobots said? Would he really beat Starscream for being missing, would he abort Starscream’s newsparks - and could Starscream, who had been a fierce military commander for eons, possibly become a good carrier?

He suddenly felt claustrophobic; there was no way that he could even pretend to recharge anymore. His spark felt weak and sick but he stepped outside of his habsuite anyway, going habitually to the medical bay which was silent, the doors firmly shut, its medics all resting away like he should be. It had been such long orn for everyone - Skyfire had not been allowed to come with when Starscream and his trine had been deposited back in the desert due to Ratchet commanding that he rest. The rest of the base had apparently been in something of an uproar ever since Optimus Prime had demanded that nobody hurt the new creation trine. Officially, as of Optimus Prime setting his optics on Ratchet’s confirming spark scan, nobody was allowed to shoot Starscream - should anyone harm him, they would face a court marshal.

“But he’s our _enemy!”_ mecha had cried, but the Prime had stood his ground - by his order, having been devoid of new Cybertronian life for so long, Starscream’s newsparks were to be considered absolutely precious and since the bitlets would be depending so dearly on sires as well as Carrier, so too was their entire creation trine. Apparently to reinforce the Prime’s command, there were now posters all over the _Ark_ detailing it. Ratchet had backed up Optimus Prime’s order, and somewhat reluctant support had come from wide across the cause.

So, Starscream was protected from at least the Autobot faction, yet Skyfire didn’t feel any better about his partner’s safety, and his pedes carried him towards the _Ark’s_ entrance, where he hoped that he would glean some peace from the surrounding mountains. He thought that if he perhaps felt the wind against his wings he would feel good about Starscream’s plight again, that the sight of good scenery would soothe his spark, perhaps allowing him some rest. Skyfire strode with relief towards the doors, imagining where he might sit or lay out, thinking of the half cube of low grade which he still had in his subspace -

“WOO! Ahhaha, mech, ya weren’t kiddin’!”

Where Jazz had been lurking, Skyfire honestly had no idea, but in any case, he jumped so hard that he bashed his wings against the ceiling and moaned in pain as the unrepentant grounder practically danced around him like a hyperactive turbohound, exclaiming, “Ya gotta see! It’s ‘ysterical! That amica o’ yers is feelin’ dem creator protocols _hard!”_

“I have no idea what you mean -” Skyfire tried to protest, but Jazz snatched his servo and dragged him forcibly from the hallway into a crammed little room where he had him sit in a too-small chair (Skyfire slid onto the floor as soon as Jazz’s back was turned, finding that exponentially more comfortable,) then played what looked somewhat like news footage - only it was full of humans rather than Cybertronians - on a big screen. The humans seemed to be in the midst of some sort of indecipherable hubboo and unable to understand it, Skyfire looked away, flinching at the sight of a traumatized looking crimson mech huddled rocking himself in one corner of the room. 

“See? See? Oh - don’t mind Red, ‘e’s just havin’ a moment,” dismissed Jazz, noticing where Skyfire was staring. “Red Alert is our chief security mech and the enemy doing unexpected slag never sits well wit’ ‘im.” 

To Skyfire, it rather looked like Red Alert was experiencing some sort of severe panic attack. Hoping that the mech had already applied to himself some sort of medication, (preferably a strong sedative,) to help, he looked blankly back at the screen, Jazz pointing enthusiastically, “SEE! See? He attacked Laserbeak, he did! He smacked her out the air, then he took off _inland!”_

It took Skyfire over a groon to get Jazz to explain why any of this was relevant, but once he understood, Skyfire could not help but stare in astonishment while Jazz continued to crow in satisfaction. From what he understood, Starscream had deviated completely from what had been expected of him - so much so that Jazz was aching to know what the Decepticons back on the Nemesis thought. Instead of flying home there, as expected, Starscream had landed somewhere on the coast then taken off again, soaring away from everything which had been predicted that he would do. Now, he was officially Missing in Action, but a cackling Jazz assured Skyfire that he’d have the aerialbots on the case just as soon he could send them out. Human surveillance data implied that Starscream was keeping a southwestern trajectory and Skyfire was too bewildered to accept Jazz’s congratulations for what appeared to already be a bizarrely successful plan.

“W-why is it successful?” spluttered Skyfire.

“Mech, he’s defected! He attacked another ‘con an’ flew away!” beamed Jazz. “That creator coding’s really shaken ‘im up!”

“But where is he going?” asked Skyfire.

“I dunno! That’s the beauty of it, mech - he’s taken an unexpected flight path, so nobody’ll know what dat mech is doing - his mates might not even know! Slag, he might not even know! It’s so excitin!’” exclaimed Jazz. “Aw, mech, I gotta open up a bettin’ pool. This is the best thing in centravorns!”

Skyfire couldn’t say whether he felt the same; he was still too bewildered, and he couldn’t help hoping that Starscream had some idea regarding what he was doing.

* * *

Starscream had no idea what he was doing, just that he was doing it, and that it seemed to be working out well (although Thundercracker spent at least a groon every orn hyperventilating about his lack of a clue, crying, “Star, what are we doing?!”) He had not quite concluded whether they had defected from the Decepticons or not and he had yet to decide whether or not he cared. The Decepticons had been stagnating, for sure - after all, what was Megatron _thinking,_ keeping his army in a crashed ship on a mudball planet that had no energon for longer than he had to? He was an idiot, and the bare thought of him gave Starscream the shivers, his processor helpfully replaying the many attacks the tankformer had made against his delicate person. (_Was_ it delicate? Somehow it suddenly seemed like it was.) In any case, Starscream didn’t want to be anywhere near him, nor Soundwave or any other grounder - he just wanted to be with his trine, whom despite their confusion, couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Every orn, without fail he would find at least one of them grabbing him then nuzzling their face into his neck, snuffing hard then whining about how good he smelled. Starscream had no way of testing if anything had changed about his scent, but he certainly enjoyed what came after as he would then be caringly yet possessively interfaced. Strangely, his mates who had bonded before ever meeting him showed no sign of wanting to interface with each other, and Starscream had the oddest impression when they did ’face him that they were relieving some type of coding, sating some spark-deep need. For the first time in his life, Starscream was utterly meek with letting them have their way with him and he found himself bizarrely liking their transfluid, refusing to let any of it go to waste. Afterwards, they would inevitably cuddle together in a tight ball which was convenient, because Starscream didn’t feel much like moving, despite flying only a few joors every orn.

If he could have just lazed around in recharge he would have - he felt happiest when he was snuggled between his mates with his gestation tank warm and heavy with their transfluid. Unfortunately, he was also hungrier than usual, but at least his standards had weirdly lowered. Starscream no longer cared what fuel he put in his mouth - although he missed jet grade - so long as his fuel tank was kept as sated as his gestation tank. He also found himself more and more craving… things. Things which didn’t make sense to him, but which he ate anyway.

It was dark when he alighted on the soft sand of the western coast then crouched down to feel it, peering around warily as his mates landed faithfully behind him. It was somewhat remarkable that Thundercracker had not challenged him for leadership of the trine, but every time that he had seemed about to, Starscream had cuddled with him. Snuggling, apparently, was far more effective suddenly than punching or clawing - plus he got hugs out of it. Plentiful, plentiful hugs and nuzzles - his trine had become almost bizarrely affectionate, to the point where the only time that they weren’t touching was when they were in flight. Even then, Starscream usually felt a nosecone or two brushing lovingly against his tailfins and normally he would have snarked at them to keep in formation, yet for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to, just like he couldn’t refuse their gentle seductions of his frame.

Something very weird had definitely happened in the desert. Starscream did not commit much of his processor to thinking about it or trying to remember it, but he knew that it had. Resting on the soft sand, he sniffed, smelling the stinking odours of the grotesque Pacific Ocean just strides away, the odours of salt, marine organic life both living and dying. He also smelled his mates in a way which he had never paid attention to before, their warm scent like noble flags of comfort and protection. Tired, he plonked down on his aft and enjoyed the way that the sand cushioned him as he dug in it, looking for something which he was conscious that his frame wanted, but not sure what it was.

“Hey - Star, you’re getting all filthy, come on - SKYWARP, NO!” protested Thundercracker in his usual manner, whirling to try to prevent Skywarp from chasing a seal. Skywarp, having obviously found a very entertaining plaything, hissed at him and charged after it, screeching when Thundercracker snatched him around his waist to keep him from going into the water, growling at their black mate, “We don’t have washrack access anymore, Skywarp! You want to rust your joints?”

Starscream scooped up a handful of sand, tasted it, and ate it, then picked up another handful.

“Star’s eating slag again,” grunted Skywarp, pulling free of Thundercracker and teleporting to Starscream’s side. He nuzzled up against him, “Star, why’re you eating sand?”

“I need it,” grumbled Starscream, humiliated. The sand tasted horrible, yet he somehow couldn’t stop wanting to put it in his mouth - it was like he had become some idiot sparkling who liked eating slag that it wasn’t supposed to, yet for some reason he couldn’t help it. Still, he recoiled of how it tasted of salt and organic rot - had he been feeling normal still, he never would have willingly touched it with his pedes, let alone ingested the foul stuff.

“There’s something wrong with you, Star,” scowled Thundercracker, stalking over and making him stand, then hugging him for no reason. He kissed Starscream’s helm, growling resentfully as if this fact were a personal affront, “I don’t know what it is, but you’re not well if you’re eating random scrap.”

“I’m fine, TC,” said Starscream, grumpily content because he was being hugged by his mate - by both of his mates as Skywarp joined in, Starscream snuggled comfortingly between them. This made him feel better about having to eat sand and he leaned against them - his spark, (not to mention his tanks,) still felt off, a fact which seemed to be draining him, but he refused to comment on it.

“You don’t seem fine,” grimaced Thundercracker, explaining, “you’re recharging way more than normal, you’re consuming absolute scrap and we’ve apparently defected from the cause which you’ve devoted the vast majority of our lives to. Something’s wrong.”

“I feel fine,” vented Starscream, even though in truth his fuel tank was feeling quite nauseous and more than anything he wanted a nap even though they had only been awake for three joors.

“Your teek’s off,” complained Skywarp.

“Just let me eat sand,” huffed Starscream, “then we can get underway.”

“I feel like you need to see Hook,” said Thundercracker, gently letting go of him then standing over him watchfully as he dug in the sand again. Residual warmth wafted off of it, at least relieving some of the ache in his tummy and he grumpily nestled deeper into it, trying to soak up the heat. It wasn’t as good as the frame heat of his mates, but it was free, and it was convenient for his current bizarre snack detail.

“Fragger’s not touching me,” grunted Starscream. “Not going back there; _Nemesis_ doesn’t feel right. Need…” he thought, trying hard to define it, “…need somewhere high and protected.” He stopped digging in the sand, trying to imagine it, and had a vague impression of sheer sides all around him, plus sun shining down, a place high above anything which a grounder could reach. Perfect.

“An eyrie?” frowned Thundercracker.

Starscream jolted and stared at him; when was the last time any of them had thought about eyries?!

“That’s exactly what you just described, Star,” continued Thundercracker, Skywarp nodding with him. “You want an eyrie.” The blue seeker reluctantly sat beside him and wrapped an arm around him, “S’what Warp and I were supposed to make sure you had, were you not royal, but royals are freaks.”

“Slipstream’s the freak, I’m not,” Starscream informed him primly, digging tiredly in the sand some more. “I’m perfect.”

Skywarp snorted and sat on his other side, “What’s so good about sand?”

“I don’t know! It tastes like slag!” hissed Starscream.

“Shhh,” soothed Thundercracker, rubbing Starscream’s chest, which felt so nice that Starscream almost forgot about the sand. Thundercracker kissed his cheek, “Yes… if Warp and I could’ve, we would have given you a real proper eyrie, with a nice view all around - then_ you_ would have filled it with our offspring.”

“Ew, I would not have!” growled Starscream, shoving at him, his mate’s side of the bond radiating glee. “That’s disgusting, Thundercracker, no way! You’re not sparking me!”

“But seekerlings are cute,” reasoned Thundercracker, with a wicked glance at Skywarp, who was swooning ridiculously.

“They are not! They’re ugly little noisy frame parasites!” squawked Starscream in outrage, only to quiet as his mate rubbed his chest, reassuring him in the bond that he wasn’t serious. Thundercracker’s next kiss was to his lips, his mate’s ventilations growing excited, and Starscream, feeling the rising lust in Thundercracker’s field, knew exactly where things were going. He pressed into him, needing it, only to feel Thundercracker stiffen, his side of the bond going wary as Skywarp heard something, fine black wings fluttering in alarm.

Wheels. Wheels and weight as a vehicle rolled heavily into a nearby parking lot area which had been empty. Starscream drew in a sharp ex-vent then squeaked soft protest as Thundercracker abruptly pinned him against the sand, hiding his bright plating under his darker colours. With a subsonic trill he sent Skywarp hunting, their inky mate swiftly crossing the sands to a point just below the hard expanse of the parking lot which they could just see in the moonlight. Starscream struggled to look and he froze, suddenly illogically afraid as he saw what had been a car stand up into what was unmistakably a ground frame. 

Skywarp vanished and there was a pained yelp, then the grounder collapsed in a flash of pink, Skywarp having shot him with a null ray. A trill rang out across the sands and Starscream scrabbled out from under Thundercracker, then took off running, hurrying to the parking lot, Thundercracker hot on his heels. Reaching the hard expanse of gravel, he was vaguely relieved to see an Autobrand marking the chest of the mech that Skywarp had shot, Skywarp already digging about in the grounder’s subspace to rob him. Within a klik he liberated a datapad, several cubes of energon and a packet of rust sticks, all of which Starscream casually stole from under his arm.

“Designation is ‘Speedrunner,’” sneered Starscream as he hacked into the datapad. “Let’s see what sort of intelligence stupid here has -”

“Later,” growled Thundercracker, grabbing him around his waist and chirping to Skywarp. In a flash they were down the beach and peering back at the parking lot; more Autobots were rolling up. Starscream wanted to attack them, to raid them too, in particular wanting their fragging energon, but the thought never even got close to his vocalizer somehow. Instead he let his mates lead him away, Skywarp teleporting them into the sky for flying off. Joors later, on another beach far from any road he crunched hungrily on the rust sticks and his mates were oddly uninterested in the food they had obtained, despite being realistically nearly as hungry as he was. The rust sticks tasted better than Starscream remembered them ever tasting which he supposed was a by-product of having not eaten any in vorns and he devoured the entire packet before he was able to even properly contemplate the treats, then he gulped down all the energon, which soothed the savage roiling in his tank. Exhausted, he laid down, chirping a purr when his mates laid down obligingly on either side of him to keep him warm.

Life was good. Life was okay. Starscream hoped desperately that the next mecha they encountered wouldn’t be Decepticons.

* * *

There was something about Starscream’s newly alluring smell, the way that he stuffed fuel in his face without pausing to ask if they wanted any (weirdly, they did not,) and the way that he had mentioned eyries which had given Thundercracker great pause. Starscream was not the type to care about eyries - he had always snidely declared the weird ways that his royal flock had done things vastly superior to the average seeker. He also didn’t usually shove random things in his mouth, or eat without sharing with the trine (this being the one mundane thing which he was usually good at doing despite being an imperious royal brat.) He was also recharging a Pit of a lot and he had abandoned everything which they had worked for for eons very suddenly.

It wasn’t Starscream’s way. At first, Thundercracker feared that the Autobots had done something to his mate, but he was becoming less sure as the orns continued and Starscream kept them fleeing from both factions. Despite it being the time of orn when they usually rested of late, Thundercracker sat up and stared down at his tricoloured mate who was dependably entwined with a protective Skywarp. Both were out cold and so Thundercracker did not feel too worried about gently brushing Starscream’s sleek wing aside to peer at the soft tummy which the smaller seeker had been religiously protecting. Even now Starscream’s refined servos were resting near his midriff like a guard detail and Thundercracker had noted how Starscream had swatted him for accidentally touching it just the orn previous when they had been interfacing. 

As carefully as he could, he slipped his own servo in to press his palm gently against his mate’s belly plating, hoping that he might get some idea about what was wrong. Starscream shifted in discomfort but didn’t wake, so Thundercracker carefully pressed his hand down then frowned as he felt what was quite distinctly a very bloated gestation tank, despite them not having interfaced with him that orn. Biting his lip, he cautiously pressed a little harder, and he thought that he felt something small, just before a pained whine from Starscream interrupted him. Hastily drawing his servo away, he laid back in his spot to soothe Starscream back to sleep with his frame heat but Thundercracker doubted that he could rest now as he felt his tricoloured mate settle again. His spark was flickering hard with terrified joy and he almost didn’t dare think that it could be true.

* * *

Halfway through the morning, Starscream decided that Thundercracker was acting weird. It had started with their interface, when Thundercracker had been decidedly more affectionate and gentle than usual. Afterwards, to Starscream’s confusion, Thundercracker had practically forced him rest again and he had refused to let him take flight on his own, ordering Skywarp to teleport him up. He had then driven Starscream to an altitude much higher up than their usual and when Starscream had wanted to land, Thundercracker had not let him until he had finished a reconnaissance of the perspective area. Upon landing, Thundercracker had been immediately by his side, stroking him and following him around, guarding him almost possessively as Starscream had made his humiliating inspection of a clay embankment.

“Eating dirt now?” inquired Skywarp, apparently entertained by sloshing around in the opaque brown river, which came up to their knees. The so-called ‘fresh’ water was thoroughly disgusting, full of dead plants and organic flier poop, its bottom sinking unpleasantly under pede as Starscream scratched unhappily at the riverbank. He looked at Skywarp, wanting to squawk a correction, yet feeling too sick to utter it, and rather hoping that the feeling he had about the mud would help him feel better, he clawed more stubbornly at a vein of red, trying to pop a chunk out.

“Shh, Warp, it’s clay,” said Thundercracker soothingly, stroking Starscream’s wing.

“Same thing, that’s gonna clog your intake,” frowned Skywarp, stopping what he was doing and flaring his wings in what Starscream tiredly recognized as _alarm/worry._ Starscream ignored him, managing to scrabble a piece free of the wall and licked it off of his claws, wincing at how bad it tasted, an almost involuntary whimper wrecking from his vocalizer. Skywarp frowned, “Ew, Star. You’re getting really weird.”

Starscream glumly spat out the clay as his glossa determined belatedly that it wasn’t what he needed. He turned to slosh his way out of the river and found it difficult to pull his pedes free of the sticky bottom, having evidently stood in one place for far too long. Before he could fully vocalize his distress Thundercracker was gamely helping him free and guiding him to the firm safety of the riverbank where he shivered at the cold then shook his legs in a desperate ruse to free himself from the mud caking his thrusters. Globs of mud went flying, yet most of it stayed stuck on and he was about to curse when Thundercracker took gentle hold of his foot, then used his claws in conjunction with an empty energon cube which he dunked in the river to carefully clean the muck away. 

“Come on, we’ll find somewhere protected to rest for a bit,” murmured Thundercracker when he was done, and Starscream followed him gratefully into the itchy trees, a bemused Skywarp rustling around behind them. Thundercracker found a softish area of yellowed grass and Starscream gratefully laid down, shuddering until the sun’s heat dried his plating, then began to finally heat up his sensitive wings. All the while Thundercracker sat beside him and petted him, rubbing his chest while keeping up a quiet conversation with Skywarp, who was extremely bored. Their playful trinemate was growing sick of the delays and wanted to fly more; not only that, but he was beginning to get very grossed out by drinking petroleum. Starscream couldn’t blame him for wanting energon, even low grade energon, but he was too tired to get up and around the evening, when really they _should_ have started flying, his frame decided that it didn’t much like the residue of clay in his throat.

“It’s okay, Star, get it out,” soothed Thundercracker as he purged violently all over the grass. “It’s okay, love, that’s better, let’s get that out. Maybe let’s try the human’s jet fuel; it might be nicer than petroleum. Shhh.”

“Can’t we just go home?” grumbled Skywarp tiredly. “Buckethelm’s slagged off anyway, staying away is just making it worse.”

“Skywarp!” snapped Thundercracker, oddly defensive even as the idea of Megatron made Starscream huddle against him. “We are not returning to the _Nemesis!”_

Skywarp froze, “What? Why not?”

“We can’t,” said Thundercracker irritably, wrapping his arms around Starscream firmly, which helped chase away some of the fear which Megatron’s glyph inspired in his spark. “Starscream’s too vulnerable right now, we have to keep him safe. We’re better off out here, right, Star?”

Starscream couldn’t figure out an answer; he buried his face in Thundercracker’s neck, and the idiot mercifully stroked him, informing Skywarp, “We’ve defected. Starscream can’t return to the _Nemesis,_ so we can’t either. We’re not Decepticons anymore.”

Skywarp gaped at him, his wingtips slowly drooping, their mate finally spluttering, “B-but the cause! B-but _everyone!_ They’re depending on us!”

“They’ll have to depend on themselves for a while,” grimaced Thundercracker, suddenly pulling Starscream into his lap and hugging him tight, his warm frame ridiculously reassuring. “If we go back Megatron will hurt Star and he can’t take stress like that right now.”

Considering that he had just puked, and that he felt awful, Starscream couldn’t argue. He nestled in his mate’s lap, shivering in relief, and frowned vaguely as he saw a tear run down Thundercracker’s cheek, the blue seeker sobbing, “We need to protect him, Warp. It never should have become okay for us to let Megatron beat on him, he deserved so much better. It’s our job to protect him, so we’re not taking him back there. We’re going to find some place protected and defensible where grounders can’t reach us, then we’re going to build a new life there. Maybe some orn we’ll see Vos again. It’s going to be hard but we’ll be alright because we’re the Royal Trine, the elite, and Star’ll be safe.”

“But… but TC, we were safe in our bolthole -” squeaked Skywarp, taken aback.

“A life away from the sky is no life for a seeker, Warp! We never should have tolerated the Nemesis after it crashed!” exclaimed Thundercracker tearily. He extended a servo, “Come on, come snuggle Star with me, he needs to feel our sparks close, it’ll help him feel better.”

“TC, he seems really sick,” worried Skywarp, teleporting closer, then obligingly joining the hug.

“I don’t think he is,” said Thundercracker, nuzzling Skywarp in greeting than kissing him quiet. Starscream just lay limply between them, too exhausted to care anymore and Thundercracker smiled stressfully at him, “I know he just purged and he’s been eating some weird slag, but I think it’ll pass. He just needs lots of fuel and as much rest as we can give him.”

“Okay, TC,” said Skywarp, but he was still worried and Starscream was too done to say anything to reinforce what Thundercracker had said, too surprised at his sudden ally anyway.

* * *

Starscream lost his patience and clawed the neon green fuel trunk at the small airport open, glad that it was an inanimate object which couldn’t scream in pain. Thundercracker had confused the Air Traffic Control tower with his spark gift and some well placed null ray shots had knocked the entire place offline, allowing them liberty. Starscream, having hidden several times in airports, had remembered what fuel trucks looked like, but he had no idea how to get the fuel out without destruction. Too hungry to wait, the truck was now in shreds as he drank from its side, coughing at the foul taste. Licking his lips, he watched unhappily as Thundercracker hastily filled several of their empty cubes, then he obeyed Thundercracker’s trill to get moving, wondering when exactly command of their trine had somehow transferred to him.

Thundercracker, to his faint annoyance, even dared to fly in the lead as they made good their escape, but at least he made up for it by tenderly grooming Starscream a joor later when they landed. Skywarp picked moodily at his fuel cube, watching Starscream sprawl uncomfortably, missing blankets and pillows.

“TC, this jet fuel tastes like slag,” huffed Skywarp.

“It is what it is, Warp,” said Thundercracker, drawing Starscream back into his lap, Starscream finally relaxing there, comforted. 

“We stink,” elaborated Skywarp with a grimace. “I don’t want to drink this scrap forever. We need energon.”

“I know, but for now we need to rest so that we can make more distance tonight and get as far away as we can from the airport,” said Thundercracker, slipping a servo against Starscream’s middle which Starscream dutifully swatted away, which somehow made the idiot smile. “Don’t want anyone finding us.”

“I miss our flock,” huffed Skywarp.

“I’m sure we’ll see them again some orn,” sighed Thundercracker, massaging Starscream’s chest plating. “Stop fretting, Warp, take advantage of this opportunity to rest.”

“That’s pretty much all we do,” groaned Skywarp.

“We ‘face,” noted Thundercracker, kissing Starscream’s forehelm. “We ‘face Star so well, right, Star?”

Starscream refused to deign any reply.

“He agrees,” smirked Thundercracker. “Warp… just be quiet for a few joors, okay? Then we’ll fly.”

Skywarp consented, but he didn’t seem pleased about it and Starscream felt distantly grateful for Thundercracker’s help as he gave in to the demands of his very lazy frame.

* * *

In accordance with the planet’s equator, the further south they went, the warmer it became, something which Starscream had never had cause to really appreciate before. Usually, he never spent much time anywhere on the rock dubbed Earth and whenever he had spent more than a couple of joors in one place he had always been too focused on some mission. Yet now, flying slow because of his lack of energy and need to sample the most random of slag (he went so far as to embarrass himself by rooting around in what he suspected was an old cinder cone volcano,) Starscream had time to appreciate Earth’s many vibrant places. Thus far, they had somehow avoided detection by their enemies (which now semi-officially included the Decepticons,) and they had largely travelled at night, when the squishies were recharging, thus avoiding organic retribution too.

Starscream even hazarded a vague thought that perhaps they were doing well as he lay on the filthy dirt on his belly in the searing heat of a tropical day, scowling at Speedrunner’s datapad. Skywarp was draped on top of him, making him even more pleasantly warm and Thundercracker was reading one of the vile novels which he had somehow preserved in his subspace throughout the war. How Thundercracker wasn’t painfully bored of each and every one of them after almost half a million vorns was something only Primus knew, especially since Thundercracker religiously reread them once a vorn.

“This is boring, this Autoglitch doesn’t have anything interesting, it’s just a bunch of games,” huffed Starscream, almost tossing the datapad aside.

“Games? Can I have it?” perked up Skywarp.

“It’s of no use to me,” grunted Starscream, letting Skywarp snatch it from his servos and lamenting, “I have nothing to do.”

“I’ll happily lend you one of my novels, Star,” said Thundercracker.

“Pfft, as if I’d read your drivel,” grumbled Starscream. “I’ve got nothing; I reread all my own slag already. Even Shockwave’s dumb theories would be interesting now.”

“I’m glad that you’re feeling well enough to complain, love,” said Thundercracker, his voice so soft and warm that Starscream could only glare at him. Groaning, he stretched out and felt Skywarp make himself more comfortable, so he silently attended to his spark, which finally had stopped fuzzing that morning. His frame ached all over in spite of his improved spark and it had almost hurt to transform when they had flown the night before. His fuel tank felt heavy, and there was a distinct sensation of bloating in his lower abdomen which he didn’t like, which he couldn’t seem to find any way to relieve. To add insult to injury, his beautiful plating was dirty and he had no way at all of cleaning it - rather than a winglord, he looked like a pauper.

At the thought of how he might not be a winglord anymore, and how he couldn’t even fight anyone to get his title back, he lost his composure, crying quietly into the crook of his elbow, desperately pretending lest his trine see that he was merely falling asleep. Despite his efforts he abruptly found the arms of his mates wrapping around him, reassurance whispered as he was snuggled between their frames, the saturated love in their fields easing away the pain in his.

“TC, when is this going to end? You said that he would get better soon,” whined Skywarp.

“It’s probably going to be a little while longer,” sighed Thundercracker, engaged in his usual habit of rubbing Starscream’s chest when he was upset. “I have a pain patch in my subspace but I think Star’ll need it more later.”

“Why? What are you expecting?” asked Skywarp worriedly, Starscream distantly wondering this too.

“I’m not totally sure yet, but we need to keep taking really good care of Star, he’ll be a fierce warrior again some orn but for right now while he’s feeling like slag he’s a civilian,” said Thundercracker and to Starscream’s faint annoyance his servo strayed down towards his belly as it often did, so he swatted it away, making his mate wince. “Ouch, Star.”

Skywarp snickered, “Why are you so protective of your middle, Star?”

“It’s my frame, I can say who touches it and where,” grumbled Starscream.

“But we touch your valve all the time and you don’t mind,” smirked Skywarp.

“That’s different,” muttered Starscream and he was at a loss as to explain how, because Skywarp had a very good point there. Thankfully, Thundercracker had resumed his soothing rubbing and Starscream leaned into him, feeling marginally better for the caresses, his spark positively singing because his mates were close.

“Would it help you feel better maybe if we spark merged? We haven’t spark merged in ages,” said Skywarp, shuffling closer hopefully. “Spark merging usually helps make slag better.”

Starscream had barely processed how oddly against this idea he was when Thundercracker twitched his wings in negative, “We can’t spark merge with him right now, Warp.”

“What? Why?” asked Skywarp, recoiling, hurt. “What’s so wrong with him that we can’t merge?!”

“There’s nothing wrong with him, he’s -” Thundercracker froze mid-sentence as Starscream stiffened and stood shakily, staring at the northern horizon. He could hear something and he stumbled backwards almost right into Skywarp when his HUD radar betrayed what it was - five Cybertronian signals moving in very distinctive formation.

“Au-Autobots!” squeaked Starscream, his spark flickering fast with alien fear. “We need to fly!”

“Alright,” said Thundercracker, wrapping an arm around his waist and reaching for Skywarp, who instantly teleported them into the sky, Starscream’s thrusters firing alarmingly belatedly, so that he had to cling to Thundercracker to avoid falling. Recuperating, he let go of his mate and hovered far enough away to transform, then some inane instinct had him flying hard for the south without pausing to check with what his mates were doing. Fortunately, they strove to fly after him and despite flying as fast as he could, both kept up easily, a fact which rather terrified him since normally he would have been pulling away with ease. Alt mode speed had always been his gift, but now he could hardly fly faster than Thundercracker and even worse, as a joor passed, he saw terribly that the Aerialbots were keeping up. He attempted to push himself faster - they were Seeker so outflying the Autobot idiots should have been a breeze - but the strain it put on his already very uncomfortable systems made his thrusters sputter alarmingly. He whimpered and fell back to the speed which his frame had seemingly tolerated, but as another joor passed, he found himself struggling even at that. 

“T-TC, I’m r-running out of energy,” squeaked Starscream, terrified that they might be captured and separated in his state, or worse, killed.

“Can you fly for space?” asked Thundercracker.

The thought of the searing heat of exiting the atmosphere, followed by the frigid beyond cold of outer space made Starscream’s plating clench tight to his protoform in revolt. “No.”

“Why not? Star -” protested Skywarp.

“If he says he can’t then he can’t, Skywarp,” said Thundercracker firmly. “Starscream, how much longer do you think you can fly?”

“N-not much longer,” whimpered Starscream, alarmed to see the Aerialbots drawing closer. 

“Slag - Skywarp, I’m going to need you to teleport me back to the Aerialbots on my mark, I’m going to hit them with my sonics; Star, we’ll be right back, we’ll be -”

“There’s more!” yelped Starscream, overwhelmed at the sight of three extremely swift moving signals entering his radar on a direct trajectory with them.

“Frag, those are Seeker,” hissed Thundercracker, noting what Starscream had, that their formation was just as distinctive as the aerialbots.’ “I hope it’s not Dogfight’s trine, they’ll kill us -”

“It’s Acid Storm’s!” exclaimed Skywarp gleefully, Starscream staring in horror at the swift moving bright green outlier who was incoming, who had absolutely seen them. Blue Ion Storm and yellow Nova Storm were flanking him, their increase in speed on Starscream’s radar indicating that they were moving into an attack.

“They’re ready for battle,” whimpered Starscream, “there’s no way I can outfly Acid, no way -”

“But they’re Decepticon!” protested Skywarp.

“We’re not Decepticons anymore, Warp,” Thundercracker reminded him, “so they could be coming to attack us.”

“What? Nobody’s touching Star!” snapped Skywarp.

“Just keep flying, maybe Acid’ll get distracted by the Autoglitches and we’ll be able to pull away,” moaned Starscream, almost exactly as Acid Storm came within easy visual range. Fully expecting Acid Storm to continue his intercept course with them, his spark gave a jump of momentary relief as Acid Storm banked his trine to meet the Aerialbots instead. Starscream had a perception of guns firing as the two flight groups met, and more worryingly he saw two more trines enter his radar, no doubt Decepticons as they moved from the same direction as Acid Storm, but he was too busy trying to escape, hoping that the confusion of battle would give them a chance.

His trine was quick behind him as they sped away, Starscream’s attention locked on his radar, panicking until he saw the two other trines follow Acid Storm’s lead to attack the aerialbots. Daring to vent, he put everything that he had into clearing the area before the Decepticons could remember that they had been there too, even as he knew from vorns of working with them that in this they had no chance. The seekers who had survived the fall of Cybertron and the war were smart - even Slipstream wasn’t dumb enough to forget the presence of an opponent, yet as he watched his radar, they seemed to slip safely away, beyond the range of the other seekers.

A groon later Starscream saw tight canyons below and he dived for them, scrambling into the close space which was barely wide enough for his frame. Below the floor of the desert it was quiet and cool, the red stone sheltering them from the wind which blew across the land above. Finding a shaded offshoot of the main canyon, he squeezed himself inside the space and curled up on the sandy canyon floor as he found the place beyond nicely protected from the sky, almost more of a cave than a passage. His mates, being so much bigger than him, couldn’t make it through the hallway of stone but with a quick effort from Skywarp Starscream regained their company, his mates covering him protectively with their frames.

It took a very long time for the panic in his spark to fade away and he had only just relaxed when they heard distinctive thrusters in the distance then calling trills which saw him desperately covering his mouth to keep himself from whimpering in pure terror. Even worse, the other seekers were trying to ping them, Thundercracker admonishing Skywarp not to reply as they huddled, waiting and hoping that their fellows would give up then leave.

But they didn’t, and despite trying to imagine himself elsewhere, Starscream knew exactly when Acid Storm found them. He knew because there was a scuffling of claws as the other seeker pressed as far as he could into the crack to look at them, hearing the other mech scent and because Thundercracker’s left null ray suddenly came online. He waited for the blast, petrified over how Ion Storm and Nova Storm would react, his plating quaking as Thundercracker abruptly growled deeply in menace. He shuttered his optics tight, somehow absolutely convinced that this was their end, that within kliks they would be overwhelmed, with him feeling unable to do anything more threatening than hiss, too exhausted to even online his own null rays.


	15. Seekers of Vos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream and his (annoyingly happy) trine make a deeply infuriating discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favourite chapters, so I hope you guys especially enjoy the ensuing discomfort of Starscream.

“Lord Thundercracker, please, there’s no need for that,” hissed General Acid Storm, optics widening when he heard Thundercracker’s warning growl and saw his shaking wings. “We’ve come to find you and make sure that you’re alright. Is the Winglord okay? He seemed to be flying slow.”

With Starscream in a catatonic, trembling heap at his pedes and Skywarp almost as nervous, Thundercracker knew that it was completely on him to make Acid Storm leave. He stepped away from his mates so that Acid Storm could see him better and Skywarp immediately blanketed Starscream as much as he could with his body, the normally fierce little tricolour huddling under him with tightly shuttered optics, the trinebond screaming with his discomfort and fear. His trineleader - whom Thundercracker had grown ever more certain was sparked - was very low on energy and Thundercracker didn’t like how stressed he was.

Had circumstances been even remotely decent, Thundercracker would have kept Starscream somewhere warm, comfortable and protected, fully secure from all enemies - he would have had plentiful good jet grade, supplements, his favourite treats, pampering and proper regular medical care. Instead, Starscream was sick, filthy and Thundercracker was terrified that if he was truly sparked then he wouldn’t be much longer, making Thundercracker feel rather desperate to make Acid Storm go away. He wanted Starscream to be pregnant - he wanted the newsparks which he felt that he knew were growing inside of their unlikely carrier with every nuance of his being. He wanted to see them born so that he could hold them in his servos and know something innocent again, something precious which didn’t know or care about the war. Thundercracker wanted to teach them about peaceful things, things like how to read, how to write, how to play, and he wanted to see them fly so badly that it hurt.

“That’s none of your concern, Acid Storm,” hedged Thundercracker, his voice shaking as he struggled to be polite, to remember the very manners which he had struggled to knock into an uncaring Skywarp after they had trined Starscream. “Leave us be, and if you bear any loyalty to my trinemate the Winglord, you will forget that you ever found us. We won’t tolerate being returned to the _Nemesis_ where Megatron can hurt him or separate our trine.”

“We won’t tolerate that either, Lord Thundercracker,” said Acid Storm, his glyphs making Thundercracker’s trembling wings still in surprise, the green seeker adding earnestly, “and we certainly won’t be forgetting that we saw you, have you lost part of your processor? We’re here to join you, and we’re not returning to the _Nemesis_ if you’re not.”

“Buckethelm’s probably in an uproar ‘cus he sent us out to deal with a big slagging human fleet that’s found the location of the _Nemesis_ and none of us flight frames have come back, sir. We left the humans be - if Buckethelm can’t follow us ‘cus of the humans holding him siege, all the better for us, even if it’s only temporary,” called Ion Storm from somewhere behind Acid Storm.

“Ion’s right,” said Acid Storm fiercely. “We have everyone with us - well, except those who love grounders, but we never liked those idiots anyway. Why have you fled? Please, this is no ruse, we’re here to join you, not drag you in to a mech who would violate our leader.”

Thundercracker had no idea what to say; this was not at all what he had expected - what he had expected was to have to shoot Acid Storm in the face, then somehow escape with his very unwell trinemate who currently didn’t seem capable of defending himself.

“How do I know that you’re telling the truth?” growled Thundercracker. “How do I know that you’re not here to kill us and take control?”

Acid Storm twitched and Thundercracker was surprised to feel a genuine flicker of outrage from the other seeker. The green mech narrowed his optics, “Lord Thundercracker, I know that you come from a common flock, so I will address your eminent trine leader instead: Winglord Starscream, we are here to rejoin you, so how may we be of service to you, and what has happened to make you stay out here?”

Thundercracker didn’t dare look away from Acid Storm, afraid that the mech would shoot the moment that he did, but with the sensors on his wings he saw Starscream burrow deeper under Skywarp with the thinnest of whines, all but begging to be protected. His side of the trinebond was a discordinate mess of _negation/hurt/nausea/weakness/fear_ which Thundercracker thought translated quite ably into Starscream_ didn’t want to talk._

“My mate His Eminence -” Thundercracker swallowed, having not called Starscream that in centravorns and finding it quite ridiculous, “- is not in a state to speak for Himself. I speak for him until he is feeling better.”

There was an uncertain flicker of wings, then Nova Storm was suddenly pressing into the crack, weaselling past Acid Storm who relented aside with a grimace and a soft, very ignored growl of “Nova Storm!”

“Shut up, Acid,” huffed Nova Storm and like a particularly large turbofox, he abruptly squeezed into the same space as Thundercracker with a ruffle of his bright yellow plating. Being Acid Storm’s carrier-mate, like Starscream he was a little smaller than his sire-mates which gave him the advantage in small places and Thundercracker took a guarded step back to protect Starscream as Nova Storm looked curiously around at them.

“Nova, you did not ask permission nor have you been given it -” Acid Storm attempted to lecture, but Thundercracker, faced with a seeker who was also a carrier-mech like Starscream, could only back away from Nova Storm. His own sires had taught him to cherish those rarer mecha who had carrier-coding and while Starscream generally hardly counted as one, seeming to belligerently deny his coding as much as possible, Nova Storm was what a seeker with carrier-coding was supposed to be. He was pretty (although Starscream was inclined to disagree,) he was caring, and he even had some field medic training, a fact which made Thundercracker extremely reluctant to damage the yellow outlier. Rudimentary medic or not, he also knew that Acid Storm and Ion Storm were extremely protective of their smaller mate and he didn’t really fancy the fight which would surely follow him attacking Nova Storm.

“I don’t need it, Acid,” claimed Nova Storm, flicking his wings decisively and fixating on Starscream, who was trying to be invisible under Skywarp. Thundercracker stubbornly kept himself between Nova Storm and his trinemates, determined to protect Starscream from the other seekers. Nova Storm didn’t seem to notice or care; he cocked his helm, then abruptly crouched to peer at Starscream around Thundercracker’s legs, at which Acid Storm made a serious attempt at getting closer and quite blatantly got himself stuck, the green mech making an anxious sound which Nova Storm paid absolutely no attention to. Instead Nova Storm laid down to stare at Starscream better, then he sat up and dusted himself, informing everyone crassly, “There’s something wrong with the Winglord; he must be sick because he’s never been a coward before.”

Starscream, perhaps drawing from the deep well of pure spite which Thundercracker had long theorized that he fostered, abruptly exploded out from under Skywarp’s wing with an angry, shaky squawk of, “I’m fine, Nova Storm! Frag off!”

Skywarp, apparently fearing for him, stood patiently and hugged him from behind to support him. Starscream promptly made a weak attempt at shaking himself loose of him, but Skywarp thankfully kept hold, wings twitching protectively close to Starscream’s sides to make up for his drooping ones, which Starscream seemingly lacked the strength to lift.

“You don’t seem ‘fine,’ sir,” said Nova Storm, cocking his helm again. “You should probably lay back down.”

“Frag off, Nova Storm, you don’t know anything,” growled Starscream.

Thundercracker was seriously tempted to point out that Starscream didn’t either, but he knew better than to enrage his trineleader, especially when he wanted to mate with him later. If Starscream was indeed sparked than their newsparks developmentally needed his transfluid and he wasn’t going to do anything which would make Starscream spurn him.

“Oh, I know a few things, and I’m learning more,” said Nova Storm, still peering insightfully at Starscream, despite Thundercracker’s efforts to hide him behind his frame.

“What’s going on, Nova?” asked Ion Storm, who from the scuffling was engaged in attempting to pull Acid Storm free.

“The Winglord isn’t well; I will amend what I said earlier, he has not become a coward, he’s just too sick to be his usual self,” said Nova Storm.

Ion Storm stopped moving, asking worriedly as Acid Storm hissed in pain, “Rust plague?”

“No, nothing like that,” said Nova Storm, stepping right up to Thundercracker boldly now and giving him the Look which Starscream had never mastered, which most carrier mecha could use to devastating effect. Thundercracker shuffled meekly aside and Nova Storm grabbed the madly hissing Starscream, drawing him gently back down to the sand then holding him there, petting him as he shuddered unhappily. Skywarp made a bemused sound and attempted to steal Starscream back but one glare from Nova Storm was enough for him to stay behind Starscream, watching the yellow seeker gently examine their trinemate. Starscream kept cursing and hissing softly at Nova Storm but the Rainmaker didn’t stop, shining a light into his optics then sticking a digit into a vent to check his internal temperature. Slowly Nova Storm worked from Starscream’s helm towards his middle and Thundercracker and Skywarp both tensed as he moved to touch Starscream’s belly.

There was a fragile flash of royal claws and Thundercracker expected Nova Storm to recoil in pain but Nova Storm only flicked a wing as if Starscream had just told him something very important. Instead of touching Starscream’s belly again, Nova Storm rubbed Starscream’s chest, effectively silencing the Winglord’s weak growling, Starscream almost immediately looking ready to pass out. Nova Storm murmured something to Starscream which sounded suspiciously like a platitude and kept rubbing, seeming to wait until Starscream relaxed, then he made optic contact with Thundercracker, his expression serious as with his wings he canted restrain him.

Thundercracker swallowed, unsure whether he wanted to, but he felt like perhaps Nova Storm had something so he reached out, taking Starscream’s beloved servos in his, prepared to restrain, keeping his fuel lines well away from the still-bared claws. Nova Storm dipped his wings in thanks and reached for the heavily guarded tummy at which Thundercracker discovered that Starscream had not lost any nuance of his strength. It took all of his own to keep Starscream from eviscerating Nova Storm’s arm and Skywarp had to help as Starscream growled murder, yet Nova Storm gamely kept gently feeling Starscream’s tanks until he finally drew back out of range with a wide grin on his face. Starscream instantly stopped fighting with a low growl which petered off and Thundercracker cautiously let go of his servos, immediately expecting retaliation, but his mate had seemingly used up most of his strength attempting to maul Nova Storm because all he did was curl around his belly with a pained shudder.

“Lord Skywarp, cover him up, won’t you?” chirped Nova Storm. “He’s having difficulty thermoregulating because all of his line energon is going to his gestation tank.”

Skywarp shot Thundercracker a confused look but he covered Starscream’s frame with his own nonetheless. Nova Storm reached out and touched Starscream’s cheek, sighing, “Poor Winglord, you’ll be alright now, we’ve brought energon so you’ll feel a lot better once you have rested enough to eat.”

Starscream’s only reply was a soft, angry whine, the little tricolour blatant about wanting to be left alone with a hastily nuzzling Skywarp. Nova Storm stood up and seemed to smile at the expectant silence, drawing Thundercracker to the end of the crack furthest from Acid Storm with a wing gesture. Glancing at his trine, Thundercracker followed him and seeing that Nova Storm intended to whisper, he bent close to listen.

“What do you know about the Winglord’s condition, Lord Thundercracker? Hmm, perhaps I should rephrase that - what do you believe?” asked Nova Storm.

Thundercracker in-vented hard, praying that Starscream couldn’t hear, “I have no memory of doing it, and it seems impossible because he wasn’t very close to his heat yet, but I think that he might be sparked. I also believe that we were captured by the Autobots.”

Nova Storm glanced at Starscream, frowning worriedly, “Captured?”

“Yes, when we disappeared in the desert,” swallowed Thundercracker. “We woke up with several orns gone without knowing what happened during them at all. We had gone to the desert because Starscream wanted to investigate something and he had separated himself from Warp and I to check it out. I grew uncomfortable with how much time he was taking and Skywarp did too so we went looking for him. I called in the Coneheads and I remember searching, then afterwards I remember flying hard away from there because Starscream was calling from somewhere. I recall seeing him laying on the ground, then I don’t really remember anything until waking up orns later. After that Starscream refused to return to the _Nemesis_ and we flew away.”

Nova Storm frowned over this, “Have you been interfacing with him?”

“Can’t resist,” grimaced Thundercracker, “at first it seemed wrong when he started feeling ill, but then I started putting his symptoms together.”

“Well,” said Nova Storm, glancing at Starscream, “he is sparked. I can confirm that.”

Thundercracker’s spark flared and he abruptly felt almost weak with joy, except Nova Storm looked worried. “What is it?”

“He’s not getting enough nutrition; he needs supplements - has he been eating things? Strange things?” asked Nova Storm.

“Almost immediately after we onlined in the desert he was doing that. He’s always hungry,” said Thundercracker.

“That’s normal; well, from here on out he needs to rest more,” said Nova Storm knowingly. “Sparked carriers in the early term need to spend most of their time stationary, preferably in recharge. It’s a slag load of hard work for his frame creating your little ones and it’s easier if he moves as seldom as possible. Unfortunately we’re going to have to move him a bit more because this is no place for him to carry - he must have an eyrie, and a nest. For now he must have a full orn of rest. Does he or Lord Skywarp know?”

“I don’t believe so,” cringed Thundercracker.

“The Winglord does know at least subconsciously,” Nova Storm informed him. The yellow seeker looked at Starscream again. “Very well; I’ll raid Acid Storm’s subspace, he has some pain patches which will help the Winglord rest and I’ll get some energon. I will let you announce your news, sir.”

“Nova Storm, what’s going on?” Thundercracker heard Ion Storm whisper as Nova Storm squeezed back through the crack.

“That’s for the Winglord and his trine to say,” said Nova Storm and Thundercracker stopped listening as soon as his audials confirmed Nova Storm shaking down his trine for supplies. Thundercracker approached his own, sitting beside them and caressing Skywarp as he gave him a worried, beseeching look. Instead of speaking at first he kissed Starscream to online him, the exhausted new carrier stirring slowly and reluctantly, yet appreciating Thundercracker’s pets all the same.

_Starscream?_ asked Thundercracker, feeling the royal’s awareness of him percolate.

_What, TC? Need ‘charge,_ grumbled Starscream.

_ Nova Storm confirmed my suspicions about what’s wrong with you,_ said Thundercracker.

_ You had suspicions and you didn’t tell me?_ whined Skywarp.

_ Whatever, don’t care,_ grumbled Starscream.

Thundercracker stalled for a klik, then bulled on with a smile, pressing his lips to Starscream’s and flooding their bond with his appreciation, “Love, you’re carrying our little ones; you’re sparked.”

Starscream’s shriek of outrage echoed through the canyons.

* * *

“I AM NOT CARRYING YOUR PARASITES!” screeched Starscream, stressed and beyond horrified that Thundercracker was back on this repulsive topic after having spent the better part of their entire life together certain that the idiot understood that he never, ever wanted to carry his repulsive young.

_Starscream, it’s not a suggestion or a request, it is what is already happening!_ cried Thundercracker. _Stop shouting, the entire faction can probably hear you -_

_ TC, are we really creators?_ interrupted Skywarp, shocked and - to Starscream’s vast distress - _excited._

_ Yes, Warp, Nova Storm just confirmed it, Star’s carrying our newsparks,_ said Thundercracker, his own side of the bond a mix of distress and happiness._ I don’t know how -_

“Really?! You don’t?! Because I thought you were -” Thundercracker’s servo rudely clasped over Starscream’s mouth, forcing him to continue screaming at him via their bond. _\- an adult! Or maybe that spike of yours knows nothing about where it spends its time!_

_How long until Star gives birth?_ asked Skywarp gleefully, apparently ignoring Starscream.

_ I don’t know, Warp - Star, it must have happened during those orns we lost -_ began Thundercracker.

“Obviously!” snarled Starscream, biting his mate’s hand, the look he gave Thundercracker purely evil as he concluded silently, _and so, if you can’t remember, how do you know that the parasites are yours? What if they’re just parasites? I am not carrying!_

_ Starscream, love, you are; you’re nauseous, you’re exhausted, you keep guarding your gestation tank because it has passengers and you’re giving off mating pheromones which is why Warp and I can’t resist you,_ said Thundercracker, Starscream gasping as the purring glitch nuzzled him forcefully. _Additionally, I feel like Warp and I would react differently if the newsparks weren’t ours but either way, accept it, Star - you’re carrying. You have little ones and the most important thing is that they are _not _Megatron’s!_

This was a good thing, not that Starscream wanted to admit it and he trembled nervously as he realized that Thundercracker was _crying,_ the sap apparently overwhelmed with happiness that a freak mistake of biology was besieging Starscream’s frame. The idiot kissed him again, long and passionate, then pressed their forehelms together, venting hard as his field absolutely radiated joy, Thundercracker whispering, “Don’t you get it, Star? They’ll be a mix of _us._ They’re going to be so smart, and so fast, and so innocent.”

“That’s _not_ a good thing, TC,” grumbled Starscream, too tired to argue for the moment, deciding to allow Thundercracker his delusions. A scuffling announced Nova Storm returning, the older carrier-coded mech barging into their sanctuary without so much as a query whether it was okay, to Starscream’s outrage utterly ignoring his enraged hiss.

“Alright, Lord Thundercracker, here’s some energon - enough for you and Lord Skywarp too - here’s some pain patches and here’s the supplements which I stole from Shockwave,” said Nova Storm brightly.

“Supplements from Shockwave? I’m not eating that slag, I’ll birth optically challenged tanks instead of seekers,” growled Starscream weakly.

“They’re general supplements, Winglord,” said Nova Storm primly. “You need to rest.”

“I don’t need to do _anything,”_ growled Starscream, but Thundercracker was thanking Nova Storm graciously and to his supreme irritation Nova Storm left, apparently trusting his trine to force feed him the supplements that he didn’t want. He glared murderously at Thundercracker, trying not to be swayed by the twit’s soft smile, “You’re not feeding me that slag.”

“You’ll feel better if you eat this slag,” clicked Thundercracker, unsealing a cube and pouring some of the glittering powder in. “Much better. More energy for flying, and arguing, and ‘facing -”

“Fine, give me the slag,” grumbled Starscream, but to his deepening annoyance Thundercracker insisted on helping him drink it, then the glitch wouldn’t let him apply his own pain patch. More comfortable despite himself, the energon having chased away some of his frame’s ache, Starscream reluctantly allowed his frame to rest, listening as his trinemates whispered happily together. Reassured by the sound of their voices, he briefly caught himself drifting off and he onlined slowly to warmth as well as the drone of mecha talking. Stirring, he realized that he had been moved, that he was now laying in a more open part of the canyon in soft sand and that someone, probably Skywarp, had wrapped him in a mysteriously procured thermal blanket. Skywarp himself was pressed against his side and petting him, field happy, Starscream looking blithely past him to see that other trines were with them now.

Noting Slipstream’s presence, he quickly resumed pretending to be asleep. Unfortunately, this was not to be as Skywarp eagerly gave him away, chirping, “Hey, Star!”

_ Warp, I am not online, forget that you saw me move,_ grumbled Starscream.

“TC, Star’s online,” sang Skywarp traitorously as the blue idiot strode over, a wide grin on his face as he knelt down to Starscream’s level.

“Hey, Star, how are you?” purred Thundercracker.

Starscream attempted to make his trinemates frag off by merely glaring at them; they beamed inanely and patted him instead, Skywarp deciding, “I think he’s a bit better, TC!”

“I think he is too, he feels better in the bond, doesn’t he?” said Thundercracker wickedly.

_ You are fragging your servo from now on until forever,_ Starscream told him darkly.

“Mm, no, Star, I’m fragging _you_ just as soon as you’re up to it,” smirked Thundercracker. “Our litter needs a strong foundation and that means transfluid.” It sounded as if Nova Storm or some other idiot had told him this and he was absolutely gleeful about it.

“We are not having a litter,” growled Starscream. “I’m just… uncomfortable.”

A truly annoying gale of laughter informed him that the horror known as Slipstream had heard him. She swaggered over, sneering hideously, drawling, “Oh cousin dearest, your true coding is finally showing! I knew that it would catch up with you some orn and knock you off your throne!”

“I don’t have a throne, fragger,” hissed Starscream. The closest thing resembling a throne which he had was Thundercracker’s glorious lap and he refused to talk about that outside of strict privacy. “Frag off, Slipstream, this changes nothing.”

“A carrier can’t rule, Star-star!” smirked Slipstream. “You’re going to be far too busy raising your trine’s scraplets -” She abruptly stopped talking, probably because she suddenly became aware of the cool but warming barrel of the null ray which Acid Storm had just pressed to the side of her helm. Starscream stared, fully taken aback because Acid Storm wasn’t alone - Thrust, Hotlink and Nacelle were pointing weapons at her too.

“Watch how you speak of the Winglord, the Royal Trine and our unborn princes, femme,” growled Acid Storm dangerously. “We are no longer Decepticons, Slipstream - we are back to Vosian Law, and whether you like it or not, Winglord Starscream is the only heir to the Vosian throne. He’s also proven himself competent, so we follow him - we will never follow you - now back down! DOWN, FEMME!” 

He snarled this last and Slipstream dropped to her knees, then scrambled away to rejoin her long suffering trinemates, who both murmured apologies for her behaviour. Acid Storm flared his wings and looked around at the gathered seekers (plus, Starscream noticed, Astrotrain and Blitzwing,) snarling, “There is no more Lord Megatron! There is only Vos, the Royal Trine and Winglord Starscream, and now the Royal Litter! Our Winglord has kept us alive, kept us from starving when the tankformer became incompetent. He has kept us together in our trines when Megatron would have seen us separated, and it is through him that we have kept our culture when other mecha have lost theirs! Because of him Vos remains strong in its mecha if not its land - but we can return to Vos again some orn. I have flown Cybertron’s skies, I have seen that it is rejuvenating, so I foresee that we will return some orn, somehow, and live in peace! HAIL STARSCREAM!”

Starscream hadn’t heard anyone hail him since the fall of Vos and he almost flinched deeper into his blanket in delighted surprise when mecha actually answered Acid Storm in kind, shouting the glyphs proudly. Ever so faintly it made him rethink the possibility of having a litter of seekerlings crammed inside of him but he adamantly refused to consider them a good thing. Still, they were apparently useful for more than keeping Megatron’s nasty giant spike out of his valve, although he still felt resentful at them for their profound skills at making him want to vomit.

“Um, we’re not Vosian though -” noted Astrotrain after a couple of kliks of this.

“You’re Vosian now!” barked Hotlink, kicking Astrotrain in the pedes and making him yelp. 

“We speak it anyway, mech,” shrugged Blitzwing to a wincing Astrotrain. “May as well, at least we’re not stuck on the _Nemesis_ anymore.”

“That’s true,” grumbled Astrotrain.

“Winglord,” said Acid Storm, kneeling before Starscream and his trine. “I feel it prudent to strike the Decepticon sigils from our wings, and re-adorn ourselves with Vosian ones at our soonest opportunity. We must also soon discuss our next movements; I have taken the liberty of sending several trines out to scout for better positions for our faction. We need better protection than this, and we need resources. You mustn’t be without energon in your state and we will need munitions to defend ourselves as well as advance against our foes. We must decide on a direction, but for now please know that I have taken measures to protect our wellbeing as a faction. Please, regroup your strength.”

“I’m fine, Acid Storm,” huffed Starscream, attempting to get up only for his trinemates to hold him down.

“Please stay down, sir, I have spoken with your trine and you have not been able to rest nearly enough for your carrying,” said Acid Storm. “Carriers need plenty of recharge and -”

“I know what carriers need!” hissed Starscream. “My carrier was a fragging seeker mass production unit! I am not going to be like her, lazing around all the time and popping out seeker-shaped scraplets!”

“Nobody expects that of you, Star,” said Thundercracker, somehow shocked by this.

“No, but you expect me to be something which I will not be! I am a military commander, not a carrier -” snarled Starscream struggling up and straining against Skywarp to attack Thundercracker even as his frame protested it. He gave a frustrated keen, “Frag off, Skywarp!”

“Starscream, you’re already displaying that you have carrier protocols,” grimaced Thundercracker. “You guard your middle constantly and earlier you were purring but nobody was even touching you, so the only mecha you could have been singing to are the ones you are gestating!”

“I was not! I don’t remember that!” squawked Starscream.

“Honestly, I am not so sure a non-carrier would have gotten us through this war,” said Ion Storm. “I don’t think your little ones are going to slow you down much, sir, you’ll just have lap companions, and your trine will help, since they’re theirs.”

“How is everyone so sure of that?!” cried Starscream. “_I_ don’t remember going into heat!_ I don’t remember mating with my trine!”_

“Star, remember that weird interface dream we all woke up with in the desert?” said Thundercracker flatly.

Starscream couldn’t stop himself from flushing - of course he remembered that lust soaked nightmare. He hadn’t felt the same since and he wanted to swat Thundercracker for bringing up something so intimate in front of their mecha.

Apparently accepting Starscream’s humiliation as confirmation, Thundercracker continued, “I have been thinking it over and I believe that that was our mating. Besides, I really don’t think Warp and I would feel the way that we do if the newsparks weren’t ours. If they weren’t ours we’d be looking for revenge and probably trying to find a way to make you abort them. Instead we’ve been giving up our food to make sure you stay fuelled and we didn’t really question your leaving the _Nemesis,_ we just came along. I don’t know what the creepy Autobots did to us, apart from maybe force you into your heat, but honestly I’m almost grateful. We had no inkling of any plan to leave the _Nemesis_ and the Decepticons before this.”

“Yes, but now we might have the DJD on our tails,” hissed Starscream, just the thought making his spark quail. “Not to mention Predaking.”

“We can outfly the predacons and we have strength in numbers,” said Acid Storm confidently as Sunstorm hurried up, looking reverent, which was never a good sign.

“Sir, your newsparks are a miracle,” pronounced Sunstorm, Bitstream, who had followed him beaming for once as if he agreed instead of covering his face in embarrassment. Sunstorm spread his wings, apparently to exalt Primus, “I believe that Primus has given us your newsparks to help lead us into peace! One of them will surely be our next winglord and destined to continue leading us in your blessed flight path after Primus calls you home.”

Huh. That was right - Starscream had almost forgotten in the midst of his deep annoyance that his frame parasites wouldn’t just be irritating, disgusting little time wasters, but usurpers too, even worse than Slipstream.

“It is so beautiful,” fawned Sunstorm, who really needed a different hobby besides obsessing over Primus, “your trine, who were unwanted when you found them, have surely sired a powerful new litter. Who knows what sort of spark sigmas they might be blessed with?”

Starscream couldn’t keep his wings from lifting in alarm, even as Skywarp twittered excitedly, gasping, “TC! Star! What if one’s a_ teleporter_ like _me?!”_

No. No. No, Primus,_ no -_

“That would be wonderful, Skywarp, you could teach them,” purred Thundercracker, as if this were a good thing, yet the look he gave Starscream was pure Unicron-level evil. Starscream hyperventilated - one _adult_ teleporter was bad enough, there was no way in Pit that he wanted to be responsible for two or more. Wasn’t there some hokey old carrier’s remedy to keep him from carrying outliers that he could try? Usually he was a mech of science, but fraggit, for his sanity -

“…it would be _so_ amazing, TC,” sighed Skywarp, everything about him blissful at the thought of Starscream birthing his heathen offspring. “We’d have so much fun, and -”

Pranks. Starscream was sure the idiot meant that they’d be besieged with pranks the likes of which they had never seen before. Involuntarily he whimpered and purred frantically to himself, trying to put his mind back into a happy place, like a laboratory - 

Skyfire. Skyfire had been in the super weird interface nightmare. Starscream’s wings jerked so hard that the blanket fell off of him as betrayal hit his spark - Skyfire had known well that he never wanted to be sparked, but fragging Skyfire, his amica endura who should have been loyal, had had something to do with this, Starscream was certain of it. He was going to kill Skyfire, he was going to - actually he was going to take a nap, because being distressed about horrible ideas and potential realities was tuckering him out, plus it was better than listening to his trinemates be happy glitches about something which he had never wanted. His frame parasites were going to slow him down, were doing that already, and his stupid trine would regret their conception in time.

He curled up tightly with his helm under his wing and was too exhausted to snark at mecha for making annoying ‘awwing’ noises at him as he rage-purred himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'd be dreading the spawn of Skywarp too.


	16. Exalted of Vos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out how deeply annoyed Starscream is by his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all finally find out what the 'split timeline' tag means! Ahem; four million plus years previously...

“Chinook! Can you turn that slag down? I’m trying to fragging study!” snarled Starscream, stomping into the unnecessarily grand room of the Vosian Royal Palace which was the province of the Royal Family’s offspring. Toys littered the place, making Starscream have to step carefully to avoid injuring his pedes on his way to the lounge, where his glaring younger sister awaited him with no less than five of their sparkling relatives heaped around her, whining about her having paused the romantic movie.

“We’re watching something, turn off your audials if you don’t like it,” snapped Chinook.

“I can’t! I haven’t gotten those upgrades yet!” snarled Starscream.

“Then be nicer!” hissed Chinook. “This is a good film! It’s romantic!”

“It’s about Tealsky finding her trine and falling in love,” purred one of Chinook’s demented sparkling companions, hugging Chinook’s arm and looking up at Starscream simperingly. Starscream had no slagging idea what the little scraplet’s designation was - he had a policy of completely ignoring his younger relatives, even if they were siblings of his. The only reason he bothered with remembering Chinook’s designation was because she had been born before their creators had gone sparkling crazy, before the siblings had known that they would be inundated with litter after litter of horrible younger siblings.

“Starscream, what have we t old you about swearing in front of the seekerlings?” demanded an enraged adult voice. Starscream whirled angrily, and furiously found himself facing his most hated opponent - Lord Nightglow, the step carrier-mate of his only remaining royal grandsire, Lord Daggerpoint. She was extremely motherly, extremely annoying, and Starscream frequently wished that she would die terribly, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore, strongly missing his original grandcarrier whom he had known only as a little seekerling, but who had loved him. Nightglow didn’t love him - she hated him as much as he hated her, their loathing completely mutual.

“Frag off, Nightglow,” snapped Starscream. “They’re going to learn curse glyphs soon enough.”

“Starscream! Your behaviour is unbecoming of royalty!” snarled Nightglow. “Go to your room!” “Chinook! Can you turn that slag down? I’m trying to fragging study!” snarled Starscream, stomping into the unnecessarily grand room of the Vosian Royal Palace which was the province of the Royal Family’s offspring. Toys littered the place, making Starscream have to step carefully to avoid injuring his pedes on his way to the lounge, where his glaring younger sister awaited him with no less than five of their sparkling relatives heaped around her, whining about her having paused the romantic movie.

“We’re watching something, turn off your audials if you don’t like it,” snapped Chinook.

“I can’t! I haven’t gotten those upgrades yet!” snarled Starscream. “Then be nicer!” hissed Chinook. “This is a good film! It’s romantic!”

“It’s about Tealsky finding her trine and falling in love,” purred one of Chinook’s demented sparkling companions, hugging Chinook’s arm and looking up at Starscream simperingly. Starscream had no slagging idea what the little scraplet’s designation was - he had a policy of completely ignoring his younger relatives, even if they were siblings of his. The only reason he bothered with remembering Chinook’s designation was because she had been born before their creators had gone sparkling crazy, before the siblings had known that they would be inundated with litter after litter of horrible younger siblings.

“Starscream, what have we t old you about swearing in front of the seekerlings?” demanded an enraged adult voice. Starscream whirled angrily, and furiously found himself facing his most hated opponent - Lord Nightglow, the step carrier-mate of his only remaining royal grandsire, Lord Daggerpoint. She was extremely motherly, extremely annoying, and Starscream frequently wished that she would die terribly, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore, strongly missing his original grandcarrier whom he had known only as a little seekerling, but who had loved him. Nightglow didn’t love him - she hated him as much as he hated her, their loathing completely mutual.

“Frag off, Nightglow,” snapped Starscream. “They’re going to learn curse glyphs soon enough.”

“Starscream! Your behaviour is unbecoming of royalty!” snarled Nightglow. “Go to your room!”

“Make me, glitch!” spat Starscream baring his teeth. “I don’t have to listen to you! I’m going to have sire-coding, so you’ll be beneath me!”

“Starscream!” cried Nightglow. “I am the mate of your grandsire -”

“Which only means that _he_ outranks me, not you, you are not related to me,” snapped Starscream. He glared at Chinook, “Anyway, keep it down, I’m trying to study, unlike you I actually expect to do something important with my life!”

“Whatever Star, just go away,” groused Chinook, hugging the seekerlings. “I’ve got much better company than you!”

“Seekerlings don’t count,” snorted Starscream, and shooting a fresh glare Nightglow’s away, he stalked back to his room, finding it hilarious that Nightglow believed that stranding him there was a punishment. He had plentiful energon treats, he had his datapads, and he even had company whenever his littermate brother Strut got bored of watching the guards spar.

Best of all, he had a full length mirror with which he could admire his own reflection, smirking at how beautiful his wings were now that they were fully developed, his entire frame stunning. He was such a glorious standout of a tricolour - rich scarlet body and gleaming white limbs with pretty cerulean points. He’d been a damned cute sparkling - he had plenty of photographic proof in that regard - and now he would be a fabulous adult, rivalling even the crown prince, his first cousin, Courageflight. He flittered his wings, pleased with his appearance, and inspected his claws, the beautifully sharp things which would help him secure the very best trinemates once it was revealed that he had sire-coding.

“Perfect,” purred Starscream, cocking a hip. “Fraggers won’t know what to do with me.”

“You sure you have sire-coding? You’re vain as slag,” grumbled Strut, ugly, grey and hulking, much like their ugly, green and hulking subordinate sire, Missilefire, a common soldier that their dominant sire had fallen in love with for reasons which neither of them had ever been able to remotely understand.

“Sire is fabulous, I’m going to be fabulous like him,” sniffed Starscream, detesting his brother’s opinion but squinting at him in speculation as his brother walked up beside him. “What happened to you?”

“Apparently it was paintball day,” grimaced Strut, grabbing a cloth from their vanity and beginning to wipe at the colourful marks left on his boring plating. He smiled stupidly, “It hurt, but they let me play, so that was fun.”

“You’re an idiot,” Starscream reminded him.

“There was another mechling who played too,” sighed Strut. “He was noble as well, I think? His designation was Cloudbreak. I really liked him, we’re gonna hang out tonight. You should come.”

“That’s nice,” said Starscream, uninterested. “I have the university gala with Sire to attend.”

“Have fun being bored,” snorted Strut. “You’d have way more fun with me and Cloudbreak.”

“I’m much too busy organizing my career,” sniffed Starscream, touching up some of the polish on his forearm. “_That_ is what is most important, Strut.”

“Whatever, I still think you’re too vain to have sire-coding,” snorted Strut, scrubbing at his chest. “Ugh, this isn’t coming off - well, I’m taking a shower, wanna come?”

“No, not really,” said Starscream.

“But I could use your help, I got shot a few times in the back and my wings really hurt,” frowned Strut. Starscream looked at him, felt their litterbond, even if it was fading now with their ascent to adulthood, and relented.

“Fine,” grunted Starscream, following him into the shower. “I don’t get why you liked getting pulled into that slag.”

“I wanna be a soldier like Missilefire,” smiled Strut happily, annoying Starscream by being taller than him and by stooping to kiss him platonically. “I wanna protect our country, and Cousin Courageflight.”

“A noble cause for sure,” grimaced Starscream, annoyed by the accident of birth which meant that Courageflight would be Winglord and that the best he could hope for was the title of Prince Professor, like his own sire Killjoy. “Prince Captain Strut or something.”

“Exactly,” sighed Strut. “I’m so nervous about upgrades tomorrow! I mean, it’s obvious what coding I have, but what if maybe I do have carrier-coding somehow?”

“You’d be the ugliest carrier-coded seeker ever,” grunted Starscream, scrubbing at his brother’s spinal strut.

“You’re such a glitch,” snickered Strut. “I love you, I hope things turn out great for both of us.”

“I’m sure that they will,” smirked Starscream, thinking of their sire - the important, royal one, and the gala. “I hope that you have fun with whatever-his-name-was.”

“Cloudbreak, you glitch,” giggled Strut. He beamed rather dreamily, “I think we might’ve resonated.”

Starscream stopped what he was doing to stare at him, “Strut, you won’t be able to feel resonating sparks until tomorrow, so you’re full of it.”

“Still think we did,” sighed Strut. He beamed, “I hope we find the best trines. I hope Cloudbreak does resonate with me, I wouldn’t mind being trine with him.”

“You’re insane, you only just met him, now you want to frag him?” grumbled Starscream, scrubbing at the stubborn paint again. “Primus, what do they put in this slag…”

“I don’t want to frag him, Star, don’t be crass,” huffed Strut, “I wanna tell him he’s pretty and have it not be weird. He’s sooo lovely…”

Strut proceeded to tell Starscream, regardless of his great disinterest, exactly how lovely he thought Cloudbreak had been. By the time Starscream was done scrubbing the paint off of his brother (seriously, what _did_ the guards put in that slag?) he knew far too much about the mech he’d never met, right down to a somewhat disturbingly detailed physical description. Just as Strut was helping him fix the polish which his long aft shower had marred, their door opened and the magnificent vision which was their pretty turquoise carrier Comet barged inside. Of course, being their carrier, she never had to knock, but Starscream certainly would have appreciated it, especially as she obnoxiously cooed, “My sweetlings!” (Because she had just had to combine the glyphs ‘seekerling’ and ‘sweetspark’ into something far more revolting.)

“Carrier!” beamed Strut, dropping Starscream’s polishing cloth onto his leg and hurrying unnecessarily over to enwrap their carrier in a hug. “How are you? You’re looking beautiful as always!”  
Starscream rolled his optics and resumed polishing his forearm; he couldn’t wait until he was allowed servants to help with this slag.

“Oh, Strut, you’re such a gentlemech,” purred Comet, kissing Strut all over his face, wings fluttering with her excited affection. Typically as always, her midriff was distended, the insane femme cooking up yet another batch of inane offspring for their moronic sires (whom Starscream seriously believed needed neutering.) He couldn’t actually remember a time anymore when her middle hadn’t been fat and he averted his gaze in disgust, trying and failing to concentrate on his polish while Strut and Comet twittered at each other.

“Strut, you’re getting so handsome,” sighed Comet, standing at least two helms shorter than him and bizarrely thrilled about it. “You’re just like Miss.”

“Well, I couldn’t be prouder that you think so, Carrier,” said Strut, practically hyperventilating with the effort of his happy purring. “I’m so anxious about tomorrow! I hope I handle the anesthesia well.”

“Quicksilver has it all well in servo, Strut, don’t you fret,” fawned Comet. “Only the best for her favourite nephews, you know!”

They were Winglord Mercury’s only nephews which actually mattered according to the line of succession, but Starscream didn’t say anything, checking his plating over for scuffs. He needed to look _perfect_ tonight - so much was riding on the impressions he would make at the gala, and he was determined to show well. He might not be a prince, but he was a lord, and should anything untoward ever somehow happen to Courageflight or his siblings… well, then he would be a prince. He was older than Strut, by all of two breams, breams which could potentially matter critically.

“Aww, Carrier, it’s still unnerving though, you know? Going into recharge itself is unnerving if you pay too much attention to it…”

Primus, Strut was an idiot. Starscream rolled his optics and subspaced his polish, trading it with his claw file. 

“And how’s my little Star doing?” crooned Comet, Starscream grimacing at the ‘little’ - he was _slightly_ taller than she was, thank you, and he might have been shorter than Killjoy, but he would grow, he knew that he would. Anyone who doubted it could go frag themselves - there was plenty of scientific proof that mecha grew a bit even after upgrades, especially seekers.

“Preening, as usual,” snickered Strut. “I don’t think he’s scared at all.”

“Certainly not,” sneered Starscream, looking up far too late to successfully avoid the crushing hug which their carrier abruptly inflicted upon him. He was disturbed as he felt her newspark bump nudge against his own middle and he hastily sucked in his midriff plating, desperate to avoid touching it even as she continued to maul him. Despite himself, he felt his spark flicker calmer in proximity to its dam and he ex-vented harshly, relaxing in her arms, vaguely remembering a time when he had spent nearly all of his time snuggled up with Strut under her wing against her soft tummy plating while she purred to them contentedly.

“Star, sweetling, it’s okay to be scared if you are,” whispered Comet, drawing back and beaming at him beautifully, a tear tracking down her dark cheek as she cupped his chin in her delicate servos.

“Nobody will think less of you, my dear spark.”

Starscream sighed, “I’m not frightened, Carrier, I have nothing to worry about at all.”

“Oh, Star,” exvented Comet and she kissed him lovingly. Drawing away, she looked him up and down, deciding, “You look wonderful, Starscream, they’re going to adore you at the gala tonight.”

“Of course they will, Carrier,” said Starscream confidently, but he subtly struck a pose for her anyway and smirked when she ate it up. He could always count on Comet to boost his ego a little and he glared sidelong at Strut when he heard his littermate snigger at him.

“There’s going to be a lot of important seekers there, dear spark,” said Comet, drawing a polishing cloth from her subspace and dabbing at him. Appreciating the touch up, Starscream let her, pleased that she had to look up at him somewhat instead of the other way around as it had been for most of his life. “Stick close to your sire, and mind your manners - don’t think about trinemates yet.”

“Oh, he’s thinking about them,” smirked Strut.

“I am not, and says the glitch who thought that he ‘resonated’ this orn with some random stranger,” huffed Starscream as Comet drew away with a gasp, then demanded details. She was still delightedly grilling a chuffed Strut when their door opened again, this time to admit their sires, Starscream immediately disregarding the behemoth known as Missilefire for his smaller, more regal shadow. Prince Professor Killjoy of Vos looked as resplendent as ever, his highly polished vivid crimson and stark black plating striking, his wings implying the very superior alt mode speed which Starscream had inherited from him, which not even his aunt Winglord Mercury, the so-called ‘Quicksilver’ couldn’t match. He was devastatingly handsome, his sharp optics betraying a brilliant processor which Starscream knew that he himself either matched or bettered. Killjoy was seeker perfection - swift, deadly and precise.

It seemed immensely wrong that he wasn’t Winglord instead of Mercury. At a glance, it was easy to see how Killjoy had claimed their beautiful carrier Comet as his mate - yet nothing about him could explain Missilefire, whose appearance Starscream had many a time silently compared to the aft-end of a tankformer in their root mode. Alarmingly large and dangerous, yes, but he wasn’t a mech who caught the optic, who made anyone pause in admiration - he wasn’t even a highly ranked officer. 

“Sires,” chirped Strut, obediently trotting over to them to be inspected. Killjoy hardly glanced at Strut before training his keenly analyzing gaze upon Starscream, and Starscream stood straight, angling his wings to exactly the right angle, trying to please the sire whose positive opinion he thirsted for as much as he could, even while feeling confident that he was right on point.

“Good polish, Starscream; come,” demanded Killjoy and Starscream went to him meekly, holding still again as his royal sire walked around him, staring at him from pedes to helm, declaring, “Adequate.”

Relief flickered in his spark and he was so busy attending Killjoy that he noticed Missilefire reaching for him a klik too late. Fortunately, Killjoy was keener and smacked his trinemate’s servo away before he could make contact with his filthy army servos, snapping, “Miss! Not now, you can admire Starscream later, I don’t want you leaving digit prints all over him. He needs to stay pristine for the gala tonight!” Killjoy, noticing Comet moving closer, flared his wings and her and Strut too, “That goes for you too! No touching Starscream anymore until we come back to the Quarters!”

“Killjoy,” appealed Comet, optics huge.

“Fine, you may kiss his cheek good luck,” amended Killjoy with a scowl, and Starscream was thus forced to endure not only Comet, but Missilefire as well showing him affection. This done, Killjoy grabbed his servo and steered him away from them, only to pause, looking at Strut, demanding, “And what are you doing this evening, Strut?”

“I’m going to go for a fly with a noble friend I met with the guards, sir,” said Strut.

Killjoy’s lips and optics narrowed in suspicion, and his wingtips flicked, demanding more, at which Strut hastily amended, “H-his designation’s Lord Cloudbreak - he’s the same age as Star and I.”

“Very well,” permitted Killjoy loftily. He looked sharply at Missilefire and nodded at him, Missilefire nodding decisively back, Starscream forever wondering what all the stupid nodding between them always meant, considering that he was dead certain that Missilefire was going to spend his entire evening worshipping Comet (because lurking perpetually around his usually pregnant trinemate was Missilefire’s apparent primary purpose in life.) Killjoy curled his lip slightly as if dissatisfied (which would not be surprising, since nearly everything dissatisfied Killjoy,) and made a chirp, at which Comet sprang to his side, then looked up at him adoringly, making Starscream want to purge, especially as Killjoy bid her, “Be good for Miss, Comet, I don’t want you straining yourself. No flying.”

Comet gave absolutely no sign that she remotely disagreed with this slag, thus proving that carrier-mecha were largely inferior life forms. “Of course, Killjoy; take care of our Star, won’t you? I wish I was coming.”

“Not with our litter in you,” huffed Killjoy, laying a possessive servo on her distended middle revoltingly. “Keep them safe by staying close to Miss. We’ll attend you later, after I bring Star home.”

“Of course, Killjoy, I look forwards to it,” chirruped Comet, Starscream frowning as something odd flickered through her usually loving field, something which made his wings twitch in confusion. 

Killjoy smiled softly at Comet, bent to kiss her, then glared at Missilefire, snapping. “Don’t you even _dare_ while I am gone.”

Missilefire’s smirk back was decidedly creepy, “Dare what, dearest trineleader?”

“You know exactly what,” warned Killjoy. “The last few litters have had too much of you in them because you keep sneaking. I will rip off your -”

“Killjoy!” gasped Comet, scandalized for some reason.

“- if you do it again,” said Killjoy, his sentence obviously censored. “Starscream is my protégé, the idiots who have bet on him otherwise will rue it tomorrow,” sniffed Killjoy. “I will not be entertaining trining offers for either of our mechlings this night - now, goodnight.” To Starscream’s relief, this concluded their communication with their family and he happily followed Killjoy into the hallway, holding still amiably when his sire made him stop a distance away so that he could repair the polish on his cheek. Excitement grabbed at him so that it took effort to walk in a controlled manner and despite himself he all but pranced out the palace exit which Killjoy chose, a wide, beautiful balcony made of gleaming white marble. Before the balcony glittered Vos, magnificent and shimmering, its great spires standing tall, clawing at the spectacular mess of stars overhead. 

Standing already there with his faithful bodyguards Windjacker and Spinner was Crown Prince Courageflight, Starscream’s cousin, his elder by only a vorn, turning to smile at him, Starscream smiling hesitantly back. The prince was a beautiful sight too, as befit royalty - charcoal and black with gold leaf royal markings. Starscream shared some of these - the brand of the Royal Family adorned his right wing - but he didn’t have nearly the amount of bling that Courageflight or his sire Killjoy had. He wasn’t allowed it yet - but some orn, he knew, he would be. He was determined.

“Off to the gala, Starscream, Uncle?” asked Courageflight wistfully.

“Yes; you are not coming as well? I thought that you were, Courage,” said Killjoy, pausing to frown at him.

“I was, but General Slater has reported that it is too high a security risk,” grimaced Courageflight, “so I must stay home with Softclaw and Stardust.”

“Then you should return to them,” ordered Killjoy, speaking of Courageflight’s littermate sisters.

“I’m just getting some air, then I will go, I promise, Uncle,” said Courageflight. He turned his kind gaze on Starscream, “You look very beautiful tonight, cousin, hoping to impress a trine already?”

“No, just old fraggers,” smirked Starscream.

Courageflight grinned, “Well you’ll certainly do that; I wish I had half your processor for studying, I swear university is killing me - begging your pardon of course, Uncle.”

“If you dare slack off with your studying I will kick your aft,” threatened Killjoy. “Our country is depending on you, Courageflight.”

“I know, Uncle, don’t worry,” assured Courageflight calmly. He returned his smiling gaze to Starscream, “You got this pegged, Star, you’re going to do great.”

“Thanks, Courageflight,” vented Starscream, wishing that it was even somewhat possible to hate his cousin, but Courageflight was much too kind and genuine. Had Courageflight been a slagheap, Starscream was certain that he would have been able to entertain thoughts of overthrowing him - but Courageflight wasn’t. He was going to be a great Winglord some orn - it was pretty much impossible for him not to be. Everyone agreed that Courageflight was going to be better than even Mercury, which was saying something, because she was a very good Winglord herself. The whole country was proud of Courageflight, which made Starscream yearn to be important enough to share in his limelight and be a favoured adviser to him, just as his sire was for Courageflight’s. If he had that, then he’d be comfortable and well off enough.

“I believe in you, Star,” reinforced Courageflight, saluting him with his wings, Starscream saluting back. “I want to hear all about it tomorrow, okay? Fly strong now.”

“Fly strong,” echoed Starscream, pausing to watch as his cousin was reluctantly led back inside by some guards. Confident in his sire to keep them safe, he alighted into the air when Killjoy did and banked beside him to let their own escort take flight to flank them. The sky was warm, the breeze smooth, and they cruised over a city which shimmered with gold to rival the metallic leaf on Courageflight’s wings. Vos was magnificent, said to rival every other city on the planet, and Starscream pitied grounders for being unable to see it from above, as it was meant to be seen. He savoured every klik of the flight beyond palace airspace, sweeping in as elegantly as possible at the beautifully decorated balcony at the prestigious Royal University of Vos. Immediately he saw mecha of importance and he preened under their gazes, holding his wings confidently high in mirror of his sire’s, making sure that everyone who looked knew immediately who he was.

“Lord Professor Killjoy! What a delight to see you, is this your creation? The one you spoke of with such high praise?” expensive, beautiful, intelligent mecha asked as they entered the university’s ballroom. Starscream purred - he was surely finally amongst his equals, the brilliant intellectuals of his kind.

“Yes, this is my creation, Prince Starscream,” purred Killjoy, and Starscream preened under his regard, canting his wings just so in order to make sure that nobody missed the glittering royal insignia on his right one. As a member of the royal family he was the sacred kin and property of Vos Herself - let no one forget it. Apart from his exalted sire, nobody at the gala shone as much as he did - nobody even came close to Starscream’s calibre. 

“Prince Starscream represents the future of our country,” Starscream heard an old university professor proudly tell a visiting Praxian, the grounder a token wingless visitor. Few other outsiders were ever allowed to Vosian things - Praxians, Starscream had been told, held common ancestry with seekers, and were to be pitied for their flightless states. If only their idiotic ancestors had selected better genetically, they might have still shared the sky - but they were doomed to never know it, and to be tolerated curiousities, the only ground frames whom seeker-kind could stand or even remotely trust. “He’s going to help our Crown Prince, Couragelight, lead Vos into a greater history.”

Starscream puffed out his chest; he knew that the old mech was right, that they were all wildly correct about him. He was perfection, and he was meant to do great things. Everyone knew it - he could feel his sire’s pride as they toured the ballroom, smiling perfectly for the media as they took image captures of them. Starscream was thrilled as he looked about, knowing that soon he would study in the hallowed university and he knew that before long he would be as famous a mind as his sire, a royal professor too. Mecha would need to clarify exactly which prince professor which was meant in conversation and they would insist that he, Starscream, was the greater. The university and the nation would look at him in pride as Vos grew stronger through his genius. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my previous stories (not counting 'Souvenirs' but including the original version of this story,) Starscream wasn't a prince. I liked the trope though, so I decided to run with it in this one. Killjoy's always been an aft, Missilefire has always been his henchman and both have them have always been obsessed with Comet - for the sheer purpose of annoying Starscream and explaining some of Starscream's disgust for seekerlings, they've always been bizarrely addicted to creating. Killjoy has also always adored Starscream, mistakenly seeing him as a copy of his own glitchy greatness, when in reality Starscream is better - faster, smarter, more fabulous.
> 
> I've always tried to write Starscream as somewhat competent - I know he's usually quite the opposite in the shows (probably the very reason TFA made him immortal,) but how the frag has he survived FOUR MILLION YEARS without some level of competency? That's why my Starscream isn't a total dumbaft, and actually makes smart decisions (generally.)
> 
> Back to the present timeline in the next chapter!


	17. Cavemecha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream and his seekers find some new digs. Starscream wishes for a shower.

Starscream jerked awake with a start, seeing not the warm, gilded, glorious, huge room of his memories where he and a long dead littermate had been ignorant, but the filthy, sandy, uncomfortable bottom of the revolting alien canyon. Gone was Vos - bombed to slag, all of its finery shattered, Starscream himself but a minute fragment of what was now a long extinct civilization which had been beautiful. Arts, culture, beauty, riches, pride - Vos had had it all, before the Functionists had destroyed everything, before the war had wrecked his world. The only thing left to his country was a figment of its once formidable air force - a perfectly matched trine of powerful outliers deemed too valuable to destroy in order to appease the Functionists - and some civilians who had had to go army in order to survive. The Rainmakers were literally the only original Vosian soldiers which Starscream had left - every single one of the Vosian Royal Guard, including his brother Strut, had died with the palace.

A tear escaped his optic and rolled down his cheek, Starscream irritably brushing it away before anyone could notice such sacrilege and furiously suppressed the part of his spark which still somehow vaguely remembered cuddling with a beloved storm grey frame which had boasted its dumber copy.

Scrubbing at his grimy face again with his wrist, Starscream looked miserably around the dark encampment of seekers - most of whom were in recharge, but Starscream could see a few perched on the canyon rim, alertly keeping watch. His seekers hadn’t survived as long as they had to fail to stay on their guards and Starscream felt faintly proud of them, although also guilty as he surveyed the filthy state of them, the way that every single one of them now bore combat scars. Even stupid Slipstream had seen her share of battle and there was nothing about any of them which was remotely regal anymore. He himself felt especially bedraggled - he hadn’t encountered any polish actually worth smearing on his person in thousands of centravorns. Starscream remembered wistfully how it used to make him smell, how even in university he had worn the stuff which had made Skyfire sniff in appreciation, but he had nothing like that now.

And with how uncomfortable and weak he was as well as unwashed, he felt distinctly ugly - he was literally laying in filth, after all. At least the sand was somewhat comfortable, though, and he had his trine - he tilted his helm to smell them and despite what should have been a reeking pong considering what they had been fuelling on, his mates still smelled comforting to him. He turned his head to check on them, in-venting their close scents, their odours hale despite their hardship and somehow inviting, making him want to inanely roll onto his wings in presentation to them. He managed to resist this urge, but before he could stop himself he had trilled softly, instantly getting their attention, his efforts immediately rewarded as they converged on him with revoltingly syrupy affection which he drank in stupidly, unable to help it.

“Hey, Star,” whispered Skywarp delightedly. “TC, he’s feeling better.”

“Good,” purred Thundercracker, “if he’s feeling better than he can be ‘faced.”

Starscream came abruptly back to his senses as he realized what his trine’s affectionate pawing - which was swiftly becoming groping - meant. “No. You’re not, we’re not private.”

“Star, there’s nowhere private out here, and we’re not leaving the safety of the group,” hissed Thundercracker, wrapping firm, telling arms around his waist then nipping the back of his neck. “Roll over.”

“No! I am not submitting or interfacing where everyone can see!” hissed Starscream, twitching his wings in refusal.

“We’ll cover you, Star,” said Skywarp.

Starscream snorted, “As if that’s going to stop everyone from knowing what you’re doing to me!”

“Star, everyone here knows that you’re carrying and that our trine needs to mate, you’re not far enough along yet to go without transfluid contributions,” argued Thundercracker.

“We are not mating!” hissed Starscream, stubbornly refusing his valve cover’s intention to open just because Thundercracker had jammed his very warm crotch against his aft. He fiercely negated the ridiculous little part of his processor which abruptly fawned over how _strong_ Thundercracker was, how _handsome_ and how very dependable he was in a fight, not to mention how lovely Skywarp was as well…

“We _are_ mating,” confirmed Thundercracker. “Every time we interface with you right now, it’s mating -”

“It is _not!_ It’s just your stupid instincts telling you -” growled Starscream.

“- to _mate_ _with you,_ yes, or do I have to call it ‘creating’ just because you’re a royal prude?” snorted Thundercracker. Starscream screamed silently at himself to stop finding his trine so Primus-damned attractive and attempted to stick to his morals. He was _not_ sparked, it was _just_ trine coding talking, he -

“I don’t care what we call it so long as we do it,” grumbled Skywarp impatiently, wings spread idiotically and sitting between them and the rest of the canyon, apparently to screen them from view. “Hurry up and let TC have you, Star, I wanna ‘face you too.”

“I am _not_ a prude!” snarled Starscream softly, refusing to let himself be nauseated by Skywarp. He huffed, claiming desperately despite feeling entirely to the contrary, “Get off of me, I’m not interested.”

Thundercracker responded by sticking his servo between Starscream’s legs and doing something entirely far too skilled with his digits.

“F-fragging af-aft helm!” gasped Starscream, involuntarily bucking against his mate’s fingers as every single sensor in his frame seemed to light up with _want. _

“Still uninterested, Star?” hissed Thundercracker knowingly. This was the problem with trine bonds - his idiotic mates were all too aware of his feelings, making lying to them downright pointless. Still, he tried, yet he felt his resolve crumbling like dried mud as slagging Thundercracker feathered a digit enticingly around the edge of his valve.

“Just frag already,” moaned Skywarp.

“F-fine, get it over with! Now!” ex-vented Starscream, feeling almost starved for it, as if the orn or two without it had critically deprived him somehow. Thundercracker, apparently hungry in the same way and apparently no longer caring whether Starscream was positioned submissively or not since his spike was about to get lucky, took a tighter grip around his waist then mounted him in one solid thrust, Starscream’s wings jerking in surprise. He clawed at the sand in shock, twisting to try to look back and squeaked as he was roughly restrained then gently shushed, Skywarp covering his mouth with one servo while stroking his quivering left wing with his other. Meanwhile, Thundercracker fragged him like a damned turbofox in rut and Starscream was grumpily aware of how apt the comparison was. A few vaguely interested optics flickered their way and a growling Thundercracker shielded Starscream’s sides with his wings possessively, seeming almost manic in his need to interface, his denta pinching Starscream’s neck plating rather painfully.

Despite how distinctly undignified the so-called mating felt, the resulting overload was so intense that Starscream went limp, almost totally spent of energy as Thundercracker’s charge shook through him like a lightning bolt. He shivered and felt his trinemate lick the back of his neck in apology before trading places with Skywarp, Starscream whimpering as Skywarp stirred him with coaxing nuzzles. Eventually he recuperated enough for Skywarp to frag him just as Thundercracker had and he licked distractedly at the transfluid on Thundercracker’s spike until the second mating overwhelmed him, then he fully collapsed with a mewl, his gestation tank feeling comfortingly tight from his mates’ contributions.

“Good job, Star, good Carrier,” he heard Thundercracker praising and to his distant but very quelled disgust he watched Thundercracker remove the residue from Skywarp’s spike, smearing it on Starscream’s lips. He licked instinctively, and was vaguely appreciative of his mates wiping him clean, then he shifted in appreciation as they lay close again, draping the rumpled blanket back over him,

Thundercracker sighing, “One more recharge and he should be good to fly again, Warp.”

“That’ll be fun, I miss flying.” said Skywarp wistfully.

Thundercracker chuckled, “Warp, give it a few decaorns and Star won’t be able to fly until after our litter is born. We need to get him into his nest before that so that he’s comfy and protected while he’s disinclined to move.”

Starscream hissed softly because this was a load of slag and because they were acting like he was asleep already, which he most certainly was _not,_ thank you.

“Star, pretty mech, go to recharge, you’re not doing yourself any favours staying online like this,” laughed Thundercracker, petting him very adequately, Skywarp hastily joining in, which made Starscream’s traitorous frame purr. This scored him kisses and yet more pets, Starscream listening with increasingly vague appreciation as his trine whispered detailed praise to him. As exhausted as he was, he stood no chance against their stroking and he onlined lazily to annoyingly bright sunlight as well as his trine gently urging him to get up, which was a horrible idea because he didn’t _feel_ like it.

“Come on, Star, we gotta keep moving,” giggled Skywarp. “No being a broody carrier yet.”

“It’s too late for that, Lord Skywarp,” snickered Hotlink. “Look at him; if we left him laying there for a vorn he’d be happy. Soon all he’ll care about is his newsparks.”

This was a load of slag, but Starscream still didn’t feel like getting up or even, weirdly, correcting them. He was feeling a distinct inability to give a frag, and for some reason it was deeply amusing all of his seekers.

“The reluctant carrier carrying,” smirked Ramjet as if it were funny. Starscream resolved to tell him again how stupid he thought his helm shape was at his earliest opportunity… which wasn’t now yet.

“Winglord, I know that you’re comfortable, but we’ll make you comfortable at our next encampment too,” promised Ion Storm with a grin. 

Starscream didn’t deign a reply, shuttering his optics and replacing his helm back under his wing.

“Good strong instincts,” observed Acid Storm in an ex-vent, apparently to Thundercracker. “Well, my lord? Let’s get him skyward, he’ll feel more like flying once his wings catch the wind.”

And thus, they rudely removed his blanket (Starscream snatched at it fruitlessly with a growl as Skywarp held him on his pedes in an annoyingly upright hug,) then they took him up above the canyon where Acid Storm was proven right, to Starscream’s deepening discontentment. As soon as his wings felt the cool breeze which was blowing across the desert he fluttered them, which saw his seekers cheering him inanely as he strained to get free of Skywarp so that he could fly. Instead he was teleported up again (Starscream huffed in disenchantment at being helped,) but then finally he was released, at which he stubbornly resumed the trajectory which he had previously been following for orns before all the slag with the Aerialbots.

“This way, sir,” instructed Acid Storm, kiting past. For a klik or two Starscream was disinclined to follow, but since everyone was suddenly following Acid Storm, and because he abruptly didn’t feel like being away from them, staying with the group feeling weirdly important, he flew after them. His trinemates chirped in approval and Starscream was bizarrely content for around half a joor until he abruptly comprehended that he had no idea where the absolute frag they were going.

“Acid Storm, where the slag are we flying?” snarled Starscream, pushing his thrusters to fly broadside with the green idiot, distinctly annoyed now that the slagheap was in the lead.

“Following coordinates which Nacelle pinged this morning, Your Majesty, he has found a sizeable cave,” explained Acid Storm calmly.

It had been nearly the entire war since anyone had called Starscream ‘your majesty.’ Appeased despite himself, he mumbled, “Well, carry on then,” and pretended that it was a conscious effort rather than his frame not being up to maintaining the higher speed, he dropped back to continue flying with his trine, who had been trilling at him to stay with them. 

While it felt good to be flying with his air force again, Starscream grouchily knew that they were a rather blatant sight storming across the sky en-masse. Had he been up to it he would have suggested that they fly in smaller groups with a rendezvous at Nacelle’s coordinates, but to his irritation he didn’t feel up to it. He felt safer flying in the midst of his trines with Blitzwing and Astrotrain guarding their tails and he only managed six joors of flying before he started getting profoundly tired. Thankfully by then Acid Storm was banking to land and Starscream moved gratefully into the cave, Acid Storm noting as they both saw how large it was, “I think this will do for now as our base, Winglord.”

“There’s a good view outside, sir, and we’re protected from pretty much all angles,” noted Thrust. “Nacelle did good.”

“Thanks, Thrust,” said Nacelle ruefully, who had been waiting with his trine at the cave entrance. He smiled at Starscream, “Good to see you, Winglord, you look okay.”

“He’s certainly better with some energon and supplements,” said Nova Storm, clicking at Starscream. “Come on now, let’s get you resting, sir, you’re going to need to mate again in a few joors.”

Starscream scowled, but his idiot trinemates were excited and nobody else made stupid comments, so they explored the cave, which proved to be pleasantly sizeable, as well as not nearly as damp as the _Nemesis_. Inside it was somewhat unpleasantly cool, and the heat of his taxed thrusters faded fast but his trinemates radiated heat and the instance that they registered the slightest silent plea that he was cold they had enwrapped him in the thermal blanket again. Finding what Starscream deemed to be a sheltered and dry enough spot for himself, somewhat secluded from the rest of the cave, Starscream planted his aft and his trine sat on either side of him, hugging him between them in their arms. 

Realizing that they no longer needed to care about ground frames seeing them, Starscream sighed in relief and didn’t protest the blatant affection, instead watching their mecha move in. Their force was relatively small, but Acid Storm had brought his trines from Cybertron so they were defensible and effective. He watched as his trineleaders gathered before him, the subordinate seekers sitting off to the sides to observe, a few of them left on guard outside, and Starscream felt a klik of deja vu, remembering a far less ragtag looking group of seekers standing in the ruins of Vos, awaiting his glyph.

“This is exciting, our first war meeting without Buckethelm,” commented Crosswind with a grin, rubbing his servos together as he finished settling beside a grinning Nacelle and Jadewing. Even Blitzwing and Astrotrain managed to fit into the cavernous space.

“This isn’t just a war meeting, this is a session of Vosian government, mecha,” noted Acid Storm primly, Bitstream helpfully providing light as he turned on a lantern which he had had in his subspace then placed it in front of Starscream on the sandy floor. “Is everyone ready?”

There were murmurs of assent, everyone sitting still, the lantern casting long shadows and Acid Storm nodded to Starscream, “Winglord?”

Starscream ex-vented - he didn’t fully know what to do. The stupid newsparks (now that he knew that it was their faults,) had unhinged him, so he decided to speak what he knew for certain. He felt his trine’s support silently and dearly hoped that it wasn’t misplaced. He looked at his soldiers’ faces again and reflected that for the first time in his life, he wished that he didn’t have the limelight, that he could hide away in the dark, unnoticed.

“I am not returning to the _Nemesis,”_ said Starscream quietly, “or to Megatron.”

Silence greeted this proclamation, as lame as it was and Starscream mustered himself, speaking on, “The Autoglitches did something to my trine and I which has changed things. It’s something I would have kept refusing, regardless of succession - we’re Cybertronian, we can live for practically forever if we’re not killed, right? But - that’s changed now, and I cannot face Megatron of Tarn, nor can I tolerate recharging beneath that… _fluid_ ever again. I am Seeker and I was born to rule the sky, not live wondering whether or not a damned useless wreck of a warship is going to suddenly implode and drown us all.”

There were snickers and smiles, but apart from Slipstream, who rolled her optics, nobody really seemed derisive of this.

“Megatron’s become a senile old cog,” admitted Starscream angrily, “and you’ve all heard by now through our rumour mill what he wanted to do to me. He would have forced a sparkling on me, and stolen our sovereignty within the Decepticon faction… so I no longer wish to be a Decepticon. I will not serve him when he himself no longer serves our cause of freedom as it was born, and as he would defile me against my will. What the Autobots did to me was undesired, but at least it wasn’t him and we don’t know why they did it, but it still wasn’t that horrible grounder’s plan. I led us to the cause to fight the Functionism which had destroyed our civilization but there’s hardly any mecha left of that regime.”

He flexed his digits angrily, expressing and retracting his claws, “Let Megatron and the useless Prime destroy each other without us. I was born Vosian and I would rather die with the glyph of my ancestral home on my wing than with Megatron’s brand.” Starscream moved to scratch his claws through the brand on his right wing and twitched as Skywarp caught his servo to stop him.

“Anyone got any paint stripper?” asked Skywarp hopefully.

“Yes, let’s not have our gravid Winglord suffering energon loss right now,” grimaced Acid Storm, flapping his servo impatiently at which everyone checked their subspaces. Starscream highly doubted that any of them would have any, yet to his surprise Astrotrain stood up, then handed a bottle to Acid Storm who passed it to Skywarp.

“Do I want to know why you had that?” asked Blitzwing, recoiling from his friend.

“I’m a damned shuttle, Blitz, mecha leave all kind of slag on board when I lug their afts,” grumbled Astrotrain.

“Hold still, Star,” chirped Skywarp, dabbing a cloth with the stripper, but Starscream still twitched as the cool liquid touched his highly sensitive wing so that Thundercracker ended up having to restrain his wing to keep it still while Skywarp finished scrubbing away the purple paint. There was nothing which could erase the very physical indented brand in his plating, but his natural colour nanites would repopulate the area soon enough, once they recovered from the paint stripper. Nova Storm joined Thundercracker in helping Starscream hold still as Skywarp removed his other wing’s Decepticon sigil, then he watched heavily as his trine mates removed their own in solidarity. 

“I don’t think this bottle’s going to last,” noted Skywarp.

“We’ll just do a strike through everyone else’s for now, we’ll get more paint stripper later,” decided Nova Storm, taking the bottle as well as the cloth and Starscream stared as the carrier mech approached Acid Storm, who held gravely still while Nova Storm did as he had noted. After Acid Storm, Ion Storm’s were slashed, then Nova Storm himself and the bottle was passed along with the cloth to Hotlink, who gravely carried out the same task with his own trine before Dirge took it on until there was nobody present who had pristinely painted brands at all anymore.

“We will always remember being Decepticon, for the time when the Cause aligned with our own, but now we fly solely as Vosians,” said Acid Storm seriously. He looked to Starscream, “Winglord Starscream of Vos; your wishes?”

“I am tired of this mudball,” said Starscream, feeling this very deeply, right to the spark. “I’m tired of worlds which aren’t ours, and ugly warships with slag lighting.” He in-vented sharply, feeling traitorous to himself, because he wasn’t sure why he cared so much about it suddenly, “I want to go home, to Vos, and rebuild our civilization as it once was. Acid, you mentioned Cybertron is coming back to life?”

“Indeed it is,” nodded Acid Storm. “I have seen mechanimals thriving with young, and many other signs which have made me conclude that our home has replenished itself.”

“Then our ultimate goal will be to go home,” grimaced Starscream, unconsciously touching his middle as he thought of how desolate and depressing Vos would be, yet how much better it was than Earth, even in its ruined state. The country was little more than rubble, but at least it was still there, so they could reclaim it and build it up again. He ex-vented, feeling profoundly tired, “But we won’t be safe until certain enemies are no more. I… I don’t know whether the Autobots will be friend or foe. I would declare us neutral to them - only attack if provoked and avoid being seen.”

“Starscream, perhaps our mecha could use some time to think up potential plans,” said Thundercracker, touching his upper arm gently. “Acid Storm has already taken good steps to protect us for the klik, I think.”

Acid Storm nodded, “I have two trines still out scouting as we speak, Lord Thundercracker.”

Thundercracker’s wings twitched and he glanced at Starcream, then he stood, touching his chest where his spark was, “Acid Storm, I, Lord Thundercracker of Vos, on behalf of my trineleader Winglord Starscream, raise you to the rank of General.”

“I am still commander -” fretted Starscream, annoyed with him and bothered because Thundercracker had never acted so noble anymore, even though technically he could.

“Of course, Star, you’ll always be the top seeker in our military, but you need to start looking after our new recruits too,” said Thundercracker, elaborating with a touch to Starscream’s servo over his middle when Starscream and Skywarp stared at him quizzically, “our newsparks.”

“Oh, them,” grimaced Starscream.

“Aww,” sighed Skywarp happily, staring rather fixedly at his midriff.

“Winglord Starscream, Lord Thundercracker, Lord Skywarp; I accept the rank of General in the Vosian Army,” said Acid Storm, saluting hard with his wings and bowing. “I commit my spark and my trine to the protected resurrection of our proud nation.”

“Thank you, General Acid Storm,” said Thundercracker, gripping Starscream’s servo in both of his. “I am second in the Royal Trine; when the Winglord becomes unable to give authority, I will speak for him as his dominant trinemate. Skywarp and I will remain his bodyguards as well.”

“You and Lord Skywarp should be protected too, Lord Thundercracker,” frowned Acid Storm. “In the times ahead, we will probably need you when our Winglord is unable to lead - Dirge’s and Hotlink’s trines have flown most closely with yours over the course of the war; let them be our new Royal Guard.”

Starscream grimaced, noticing how Sunstorm practically glowed at this pronouncement.

“My trine will do it; it’s what we’ve already done anyway,” agreed Hotlink.

“Yeah,” grunted Dirge.

Predictably, Sunstorm shot his servo into the air, Starscream groaning (already guessing,) “What, Sunstorm?”

“I want to be Vosian High Priest!” exclaimed Sunstorm gleefully.

“I highly doubt that anyone else wants that job,” deadpanned Starscream as Bitstream covered his face and Hotlink sighed. “Fine, just don’t be annoying about it.”

“Primus blesses our cause! Just as he has blessed you with newsparks!” exclaimed Sunstorm in reply.

“Actually an Autobot medic ‘blessed’ me with these newsparks by drugging my trine and I silly -” huffed Starscream.

“It was Primus’ will!” shrilled Sunstorm, almost defiantly. “The Autobots acted with His design in mind! Finally he has moved past his worthless Prime!”

Starscream silently thanked Primus that Sunstorm wasn’t part of Optimus Prime’s fan club. “Alright, everyone, think up tactical slag for our next meeting, we’ll meet again around the same time in a few orns. For now everyone who isn’t on guard may be at ease, within reason; no joy flights without permission, we’re conserving energon.”

There were murmurs of agreement as most mecha got up to explore the cave some more and Starscream signalled Acid Storm over while attempting to ignore his trinemates’ petting. “Acid, exactly how much energon do we have?”

“Not much, Winglord, so a raid should be on our agenda of things to discuss next meeting,” said Acid Storm. “We have enough for five orns with your increased fuel intake.”

Starscream soured, “I will drink the same amount as everyone else.”

Thundercracker, Acid Storm and Nova Storm all stiffened, the latter snapping, “_Sir,_ you will _not._ You are feeding more than yourself, you need to eat as much as you can. If we were at home in Vos and not in this shortage you would be being fed high quality supplemented high grade specially formulated for Seeker carriers; now, it is bad enough that we don’t have that, so you must at least consume a double ration - I pray it will be enough.”

“Praying is Sunstorm’s job, not yours, Nova Storm,” scowled Starscream, noting sidelong that Sunstorm appeared to be trying to create a shrine to Primus out of a stalagmite, to the apparent annoyance of Bitstream. “I’m fine. We were surviving just fine on petroleum and -”

“Starscream, you were not surviving ‘just fine’ so you can drink your extra energon nicely or Warp and I will force feed it to you,” interjected Thundercracker with a growl. “Don’t you dare neglect our newsparks or yourself!”

“I’m not neglecting them, TC -” hissed Starscream.

“Yeah you are,” said Thundercracker stubbornly. “Don’t you know anything about carrying? Like Nova Storm said, you need to fuel a lot. If we were home in Vos before the war right now I’d be stuffing you with energon treats and supplements, _anything_ to increase your intake because our little ones need it!”

“I _know_ about carrying, TC,” winced Starscream, his tanks turning at the idea of being so glutinous. He barely even remembered what normal jet grade tasted like, let alone the revoltingly sweet slag which carrier-coded mecha were given, which was the same stuff that seekerlings were fed.

“Prove it then - you just flew all orn, so it’s time for you to rest,” hissed Thundercracker. “You need to lay down and attend our newsparks, Star.”

Starscream glared at him and didn’t move, arms crossed in determination. Thundercracker’s wings gave an outraged flick, then he hissed, _“Now,_ Star! Be a good carrier and recharge! Skywarp - help him!”

“And what are you going to do, TC?” snapped Starscream, refusing to move.

“I’m going to speak with Acid Storm some more,” snapped Thundercracker back.

“About what, TC?” asked Skywarp, obediently hugging Starscream, who melted mutinously into his warm embrace, jealously needing his frame heat. Stupid energy sapping newspark parasites!

“Energon,” said Thundercracker. “Star and our litter are going to need jet grade to stay healthy.”

“Where the frag do you expect to find that slag, dumbaft?” snarled Starscream. “Nobody makes it anymore!”

“Well, we have to do something, Star! Come on, Acid - Starscream,_ go to berth,_ don’t make me tell you again!” shouted Thundercracker.

“You do not command this trine!” shrieked Starscream.

“I do when you are being stupid!” snarled Thundercracker and grabbing Acid Storm’s arm rather roughly, he stalked away. Starscream attempted to get up to follow him but Skywarp hugged him tighter, forbidding it, and with an angry hiss he let his trinemate bear him onto his side, pinning him there with his frame weight.

“You mustn’t stress so, Winglord,” sighed Nova Storm as he left. “It’s bad for your little ones - you want them to be as brilliant as you, don’t you?”

Starscream growled in reply and grumpily watched as their part of the cave quieted, Ramjet snapping at mecha to shut up so that Starscream specifically could recharge. Skywarp nuzzled experimentally at Starscream and he wanted to keep being angry with him but his black mate wasn’t ever as aggravating as Thundercracker, even when he was pulling his dumbest pranks. Friendly Skywarp was also simply sweeter, plus he was cuddlier and Starscream furiously put his wings to the rest of the cave in order to curl instead against him, filling his olfactory sensor with Skywarp’s specific smell, a mix of rotting cacti, petrol, cheap polish and ozone which whispered safety.

“Skywarp, you really need to get rid of the cacti in your subspace,” grumbled Starscream.

“Shh, I’m gonna prank Ramjet with them,” whispered Skywarp.

“Okay,” vented Starscream, “s’long as it doesn’t make the whole cave reek of dead cacti.”

“Don’t worry,” purred Skywarp, his end of the bond adoring. “I love you.”

Starscream admitted the same, albeit silently.


	18. A Mistake of Biology

Despite the opulence of his home, Starscream came awake in a close tangle with his littermate, huddled together in an entwined ball just as they had always recharged. His processor spun drunkenly with the happy events of the gala the night before and his olfactory sensor was full of the comforting scent of his brother. It would be their last time cuddling together as a litter - as soon as their upgrades were done, they would be mechlings no longer and the only mecha they would be aloud to snuggle with so intimately in berth would be successfully courted trinemates. Starscream had scoffed at the soft time with his brother mattering as they had gotten closer to this orn, knowing that their litterbond would not survive much further, but as he lifted his wings and perceived how cold resting would be without his always abominably warm brother, he whimpered, just a little.

Then promptly canned it as their sire Killjoy stalked into their room without knocking, snapping, “Alright, get up! It’s time to go to the temple - Strut! Up!”

Neither Starscream nor Strut were used to early mornings, despite Strut’s obsession with the guards. It was with hazy optics that they followed their creation trine out of their room then across the palace to the Temple of Vos. The High Priest instructed them to pray about what their adult lives would be and Starscream almost snorted, knowing that his future as his sire’s protégé was assured. Only one singular obstacle lay between himself and becoming a student at the university, an obstacle which he knew that he would surpass, because with every fragment of his frame he believed that he was Killjoy’s creation, not Comet’s or Missilefire’s. Being Killjoy’s most brilliant creation - and by Killjoy’s own admission, no less - he was meant for great things, something which everyone around him could see, from the mecha at the university to Winglord Mercury herself. A prince destined to be winglord he was not, but he was going to be an extremely powerful lesser prince and with him one of Vos’ great thinkers, their country would surely rise to the grand supremacy which Seeker-kind deserved.

“Alright, it’s time,” murmured Comet after a joor, her voice heavy with the magnitude of the orn, “let’s go, sweetlings.”

They came quietly, Starscream pretending that he didn’t see his carrier crying silently as they were escorted back into the palace proper, then into the medical bay. Kinseekers awaited them and Starscream grimly endured being mauled with their hugs, suffering their encouragement which he knew that he didn’t need. He was certain to the Pit that he had sire-coding - carrier-coding seemed absolutely impossible, with how much he looked and thought like Killjoy, how he was _smarter_ than Killjoy. He wasn’t anything like his dainty, beautiful, caring, meek little idiot of a carrier, whom mecha said was the very model of what a carrier-seeker should be. Starscream was fierce, swift and born to change things, to be radical - it was simply impossible that he might have been born to be some trine’s glorified pet/frag toy, laying around popping out an endless stream of seekerlings like some domesticated brood mechanimal.

“Starscream, Strut,” greeted the Winglord, his aunt, mecha stepping aside for her in respect. She was a wicked thing much like Killjoy, black and silver with her fetching gold leaf markings which declared her the ruler almighty of Starscream’s world.

“Winglord,” murmured Starscream, bowing his helm and twitching his wings in respect - he needed to stay in her good regard.

“Aunt Quick,” chirped Strut instead, like in his processor he was still somehow a slagging sparkling. Starscream hadn’t called Mercury that in over a decavorn and he looked at Strut in revolt but Strut didn’t care. Strut proceeded to show exactly how _much_ he didn’t care by prancing right up to their esteemed leader and _hugging_ her as if they were family or something.

“Strut, are you excited to be an adult?” purred Mercury, apparently perfectly fine with Strut being disrespectful and frankly dumb.

“Yeah, can’t wait to finally join the Guard and get trained up!” grinned Strut. “I wanna protect our family and home.”

“You’ll do wonderfully, Strut,” chirped Mercury’s carrier-mate Goldtrace, snagging Strut from Mercury as soon as the Winglord let go and squeezing him. “Aww! You’re still the palace’s best hug! Don’t lose that when you’re a big bad guard, okay? Good sweetspark!”

Too busy being nauseated by his brother, Starscream didn’t notice the Primus-fragging-Winglord in his immediate proximity until he was already helplessly entrapped in her grip. He gave an embarrassing squeak of surprise as she hugged him tight then held him at arm’s length to look at him, Starscream gaping at her in horror at the familial attention. She huffed, “Starscream, stop making such bizarre faces, we’re kin you little idiot.”

“I-I’m not making faces!” hiccupped Starscream, mortified as she hugged him again.

“Shh, it’s okay to be scared,” said Mercury, as if he was five vorns old again. “Why are you always so serious? You’re only two decavorns old for Primus’ sake, you’re still practically a seekerling you silly thing.”

“He’s so cute,” giggled Goldtrace, Strut now in the clutches of their trinemate Quartzash. Goltrace looked him over then beamed, “He’s turned out so beautifully, Comet, mecha are going to be all over him.”

“Oh, I hope so,” sighed Comet earnestly. “He’s so focused all the time on his future.”

“He’ll be fine once he gets over himself a little,” snorted Mercury quite condescendingly. She smirked at Starscream, “Won’t you, sweetspark?”

“Starscream is fine, Mercury,” huffed Killjoy defensively. “He’s bound for great things.”

“That’s if he has sire-coding, Killjoy,” dismissed Mercury. Her gaze turned back to Starscream, “Otherwise he’ll _create_ mecha who will do great things, won’t he? Here, Goldtrace, I know you want to hug him.”

“Pfft, finally!” exclaimed Goldtrace, seizing Starscream from his aunt and hugging him just as tight. “Oh, sweetspark, you’re going to be so fine!” She appeared to notice that Quartzash wasn’t paying attention, “Quartzash, get in on this hug! He might not be this cuddly after!”

“I’m not cuddly _now,”_ hissed Starscream, struggling to get free, but it was to no avail, and afterwards they forced him to accept hugs from his grotesque younger siblings who were nearly just as terrible. Chinook informed him quite loudly that she had bet with cousin Sunfire that he was a carrier and Starscream almost told her to frag off until he remembered the Winglord standing nearby. Instead he gave Chinook a look which he hoped she read as a promise of death for her doll collection and turned hurriedly away, only to find himself standing beside a benevolent Courageflight.

“Don’t listen to Chinook, or any of the other mecha betting on your outcome, Star, it’s none of their business,” said Courageflight kindly.

“Well technically it is, since they’re betting shanix on me,” grumbled Starscream.

“They’re idiots,” shrugged Courageflight.

“How come nobody’s betting on Strut?” asked Starscream.

His cousin snorted, “I think the consensus is that there’s no way _that_ could ever be coded as a carrier. Sire-coded mecha tend to be bigger, Star.”

“Prince Killjoy isn’t that big,” huffed Starscream.

“Your _sire_ was a runt, you know what Grandsire says,” snorted Courageflight. “Small and angry.”

“I’m too glorious to be a carrier,” hissed Starscream.

“Star, whatever you are, it’s what’s meant to be and you’ll be alright,” said Courageflight, pulling him into a hug, his glyphs dripping kindness. “I love you - now, remember what I told you? You just fall into recharge then online and it’ll be done. Instant.”

“Right,” agreed Starscream but he knew that surgery wasn’t that simple and his spark fluttered nervously as he realized how little time was left. The royal medics, Raindrop and her trinemate Wildflash entered the room, at which Starscream was drawn together with Strut as well as their creators for one last hug. Impatient to get the procedure over with, Starscream refused to second guess his confidence regarding his coding as he allowed himself to be led into the surgery room. He laid down on the operating table which was preferred to him and tried to ignore how his idiot carrier was crying again, how Missilefire was having to calm Strut because he was nervous. The too-bright blaze of white from the light above him hurt his optics so he closed his optics before the sedative even started working, which was his last sight of anything as a mechling. The voices of his loved ones faded away as something heavy and chemical fuzzed his processor, drenching it to sleep, then there was nothing.

* * *

“Star.”

Starscream sluggishly onlined, feeling cold seep into his plating from the unpleasant sandy ground as something extremely warm and very familiar pressed against him, something which slid strong arms around his waist, which purred as it rolled him onto his back. He looked around vaguely without lifting his helm and noted the dreary cave - all the state-of-the-art technology, the protection of four walls and brightness of Raindrop’s medical bay were lost to history, along with the Royal Medic herself. The cave smelled of damp sand, too many unwashed seekers and rather muskily of interface, because apparently the faction had decided that trine bonding was a public event while he had been offline… which he’d only been for maybe five joors?

“Ughn,” grunted Starscream, wishing that he had stayed asleep and that he wasn’t now laying on top of his wings. His gestation tank was not feeling overly terrible but he was a little on the cold side, especially with his belly exposed and all he wanted to do was cuddle back underneath his blanket… which Skywarp had removed. “Where’s my slagging blanket?”

“I’ll give it back after we mate,” whispered Skywarp. “TC says we need to give you transfluid every orn.”

Starscream scowled, “He just likes an excuse to frag.”

“Nova Storm agreed with him and Nova Storm’s a carrier, plus a field medic -” chirped Skywarp, nuzzling his face. 

“That doesn’t make him an actual medic-medic you glitch,” growled Starscream, shuttering his optics. “Basically all Nova Storm’s trained to do is stop mecha from bleeding out and keep them alive until they can see a _real_ medic. He doesn’t know a thing about newsparks; I’m more of a medic than he fragging is, he doesn’t even have any degrees.”

“He knows about newsparks! He’s a carrier! He said Acid and Ion sparked him once,” argued Skywarp, petting him very nicely. “C’mon, Star, please? Nova Storm said it’d help you feel better and y’know how much you love my spike.”

Starscream grunted without commitment.

“You’ll be warmer after,” enticed Skywarp, one of his servos straying between Starscream’s legs. “Plus we’ll be all snuggly and you’ll recharge better!”

Warmer. Starscream liked the idea of _warmer,_ although a heated blanket might have been more effective (although less pleasurable.) He twitched his legs apart and didn’t fight Skywarp coaxing his valve cover open, but he did look around the cave to see how occupied it was before letting his trinemate do more than finger him. Thundercracker wasn’t around that he could see - the only mecha who were looked fast in recharge, so perhaps if they were quiet, nobody would remark upon his tryst with Skywarp. He tried not to gasp too wontedly when Skywarp filled him, then panted in deeply happy contentment as his mate thrust into him, his valve jealously hugging the surging, pulsing spike. Skywarp fragged him slow but hard, letting him feel out every bit of his spike before pulling half out only to push firmly back in again over and over.

“Uhn, W-Warp, just-just like th-that,” sighed Starscream in bliss, purring softly as Skywarp rubbed his underside, caressing his middle. Mid-frag, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with Skywarp stroking him there, Starscream feeling remarkably permissive. Skywarp gripped his hips for leverage and picked up the pace, fragging him just a bit faster, Starscream spreading his legs a bit further in response to encourage him -

Thundercracker’s electromagnetic field suddenly overlapped with theirs and Starscream twitched, looking dazedly around as his blue trinemate grabbed his helm to kiss him, their glossas sliding together. Trading a brief kiss with Skywarp, Thundercracker ducked his helm to look between their legs to admire their connection as Starscream moaned, “W-where the f-f-frag were you?”

“Outside, I felt what you two were doing,” said Thundercracker, a click announcing the freeing of his spike as he continued to watch Skywarp’s.

“TC, Star let me touch his newspark bump,” panted Skywarp. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

“Yes, we’re creating,” beamed Thundercracker and Starscream’s frame was too consumed by Skywarp to protest Thundercracker’s own caress to his belly. “Go faster, he’s already getting tired and I need to take him too.”

Starscream tried to argue with this slag, but his complaint never reached his vocalizer and by the time Thundercracker had him he was just as tired as his mate had predicted. Thundercracker and Skywarp collaborated to keep him awake, both whispering heated praise until overload saw him collapsing sated on his side, wings quivering with the slowly voiding charge. Feeling profoundly satisfied, he listened blurrily as his trinemates collaborated to make him as comfortable as they could then cuddled with him.

_TC, I’m glad we’re our own thing now,_ said Skywarp. _This cave is nicer than the_ Nemesis.

_ Well, it is drier,_ Thundercracker conceded, _but we’re not staying here, Warp, this is just temporary, it’s sheltered but it’s too cold for Star while he’s carrying and we can’t see the sky._

Too tired to contribute anything to his trine’s silent conversation, Starscream just lay limp but comfortable between then.

_ I like being away from Megatron,_ claimed Skywarp, _I was getting really tired of him beating up Star. Star, why’d you even tolerate that for so long?_

Languid, Starscream didn’t reply, distracted by his middle which had been soothed into comfort by his mate’s efforts. He wriggled, managing to curl around it and ex-vented in relief.

_I think Star’s busy, Warp,_ said Thundercracker lovingly. _Besides, a lot of abused mecha just stay where they are, it’s some weird psychological thing, and for most of the war Megatron wasn’t like that. Oh, is it bonding time, Star?_

Starscream paid him no mind - he was too tired to even contemplate why he was purring, just that it was important.

_ Why does he purr like that, TC?_ asked Skywarp.

_ He’s bonding with our litter,_ explained Thundercracker, his vents catching in an almost suspicious manner, like a sob._ I think it’s instinct because otherwise he wouldn’t do it. His servos rubbed over Starscream’s wing, Good job, Star, that’s it… Warp, we can purr too._

They did, settling Starscream so that he slipped, his purr catching then fading as he fell back to sleep, surrounded by the resounding love of a trine which he had once never wanted in his first centravorn of life.

* * *

“…Killjoy will get over it,” said Winglord Mercury coolly.

“Such a huge disappointment for him though!” laughed Lord Quartzash. “He was betting everything on Star being his protégé!”

“All the tells were there - Killjoy himself was a fluke,” snorted a derisive, older voice, Starscream hazily recognizing his grandsire, Lord Daggerpoint. He tried to figure out where he was and was blinded the instance that he tried using his optics; sniffing, he smelled chemicals and knew that he was still in the medbay. “He shouldn’t have invested so heavily but Starscream will serve Vos well nonetheless. Just as soon as he’s gotten used to his upgrades we’ll trine him out, he’s nearly as valuable as Stardust and Softclaw so we should be able to get him a dominant trinemate who is worth his exceptional calibre.”

“I already have an idea, if my suspicions regarding his resonance will prove correct,” said Winglord Mercury as Starscream frowned, struggling to process what his grandsire was saying about him. “We’ll have to test that, of course - oh, do we have stirring?”

“Star!” exclaimed Comet with a happy whine, rushing to Starscream’s side, her field soothing some of Starscream’s unease. He couldn’t figure out why his elders were talking about him the way that they were, the lingering sedation in his processor like a cloud cover which he couldn’t quite pierce.

“Comet, don’t, not yet,” ordered Winglord Mercury. “Give him a klik to finish onlining, he’s going to be in some pain, remember.”

“Star, sweetling,” whispered Comet anyway, her familiar field reassuring Starscream the same way that it had always done. “You did well, my little spark, you got through your upgrades perfectly - I’m so proud of you!”

“Yes, Star is a good seeker - now Comet, what did I just say? Let him online on his own,” ordered Winglord Mercury.

“But my field is reassuring him,” argued Comet worriedly. “He’s going to be so upset when he hears -”

“He’s an adult now, let him online to his reality on his own, with dignity, Comet!” snapped Quartzash.

“Primus knows that as a carrier-seeker he won’t have much of that after this,” snorted Nightglow.

Starscream’s processor tripped over the _pity_ in his hated step-grandcarrier’s voice and he flinched violently, his previously limp wings flaring up off of his back as he caught on the glyphs carrier-seeker with horror. He scrambled, trying to sit up, trying to demand answers, and nearly fell off of his medical berth, a strange sound like a wailing frightening him until he realized that it was coming from himself. Gentle servos steadied him - the ones he had always known and he stopped moving, hyperventilating as he tried to make his optics work, Comet crooning, “Star, it’s okay, you’re alright, sweetling! You’re alright and I love you!”

_It was not!_ How could he possibly be alright?! He managed to get his optics working and huddled, trembling against his carrier as he saw that she was his only creator present. The Royal Trine was there, as well as his grandsire’s, but Killjoy was nowhere to be seen, his absence from the room providing more confirmation than any legal document. 

“Starscream, calm down, it’s nothing to get upset over,” said Winglord Mercury coolly. “carrier-coding won’t stop you from being an important asset of Vos. You’re going to repay our family by securing the support of someone powerful whom we need, then you’re going to give Vos more clever, fast seekers like yourself - you could very well have the honour of carrying our next grand commander.”

Starscream gaped at her, feeling like the winglord was talking to someone else, like he had onlined in some terrible alternate reality where things made no sense. How was _he_ with his brilliant mind and speed coded as a _carrier?!_ Perhaps it was a joke - but his kin weren’t ones for pranks and Killjoy would have been there if he had been coded right. He searched their wings and faces, desperate for some sign that what was happening wasn’t real, that he was sire-coded the way that he was supposed to be, but he saw nothing. His carrier hugged him tighter and he looked slowly at her, flinching when she said, “You’re going to love your seekerlings when you have them, Star, I promise, and… and we’ll make sure you go to someone good, with a nice family.”

That was right - not only as a carrier-seeker was he to be defiled by two slagheap glitches, but he was also going to lose his home in the palace as well. He suddenly knew what Killjoy was doing - he was cancelling his application to the Royal University of Vos, because the university didn’t accept carrier-coded mecha. Carrier-coded mecha were expected to stay home and look after their trine’s brats forever, then make more brats when the first brats were grown up (unless his future trinemates were anything like his idiotic sires - then he could expect to be knocked up pretty much constantly.) Constantly sick or in pain, constantly suffering screaming, drooling, revolting hordes of sparklings because in the optics of Vos, he was now barely even a seeker.

Everything he had hoped for was gone. He wouldn’t get to be powerful and support Courageflight’s rise to power - once he was trined, he’d never even see Courageflight except on a vidscreen, whenever his trine deigned to let him watch one. The media would stop hearing about him and he would stop mattering - there would be a few articles detailing his coding, then perhaps his trining would be aired, then nothing. 

Starscream averted his gaze from the kin who were excited to sell him off, who were sure to receive at least a trillion shanix for his acquisition into his dominate trinemate’s flock. In just a couple of unconscious joors he had been reduced to a very expensive trade good - but this wouldn’t be his fate. Starscream heard his carrier crooning more reassurance to him but he paid no heed - damn the Winglord. Damn fragging Killjoy. Damn all of them - he was not going to let a mistake of biology dictate his life and he certainly was not going to let himself be trined to idiots who would look at him as little more than their plaything. He looked back at the Winglord and felt certain - she would never see him carry. None of them would.

He had no idea back then, that he was right.


	19. Decepticon Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Soundwave would rather not.

With the slagged off seekers gone (and with no sign whatsoever that they ever intended to return,) Megatron had had no choice but to wait for the humans besieging the Nemesis to go away on their own. As Soundwave had predicted, this happened in rather good time, the humans fleeing their position at the first whiff of an Atlantic storm. Pleased that the aliens were indeed as cowardly as he had always known, Soundwave waited for praise which didn’t come, and instead grumpily listened as Megatron planned out his next assault on the Autobots.

Still possessing a few flight frames - albeit none of them seekers - Megatron proudly went forth to pick a fight with Optimus Prime, and sic the Predacons on Superion, just as Starscream had planned. Soundwave came along, not that he actually wanted to, and ex-vented at the stupidity of it all as Megatron attacked a town in Colorado - it was no wonder the humans wanted them gone, really. To anger the ridiculous humans even more, Brawl happened to stumble upon a hidden missile silo and Soundwave watched painfully as the idiot sprinted away, yelling his head off, a nuclear missile under one arm and about fifty furious humans in hot pursuit.

It was really no wonder that they had not won yet, considering that this was what was left of Decepticon glory. To make matters more ridiculous, the Predacons refused to combine, largely vanishing into the town to chase humans instead, apparently fascinated by the pesky little aliens. Thankfully, Menasor and Devastator were on form, but this didn’t help much, and when the Predacons finally did decide to get involved, it was only because the Autobots had at last shown up. Evidently loathing Autobots far more than their love of kicking around delicate organic life forms, the Predacons finally combined into Predaking - only for them to get their afts handed back to them by an angry Sky Lynx before they even got anywhere near the Aerialbots. The Aerialbots, obviously noting the profound absence of Decepticon seekers in the sky, neither deigned to land or combine into Superion, and instead seemed to have a field day assailing the Decepticon troops from above.

The only thing which made Megatron happy about the loss was that he had gotten to punch Optimus Prime a few times - and Brawl, through some bizarre miracle, had managed to keep his nuke. Then, instead of doing something smart, Megatron decided to slag off the humans even more, by having Blast Off fly directly over Philadelphia so that he could toss the nuclear missile out the shuttle’s back end.

“Megatron: desist - please, save ordnance for another orn,” pleaded Soundwave. “Humans: have more nuclear weapons, enough to destroy Decepticons with!”

“They wouldn’t dare,” sneered Megatron, as a squadron of human fighter jets rose up to chase them.

“Umm, sir!” squeaked Blast Off, clearly not okay with having a posse chasing him.

“Megatron: consider the siege they recently laid on the Nemesis,” pleaded Soundwave. “Soundwave: believes humans would dare.”

Megatron scowled and he seemed about to toss the nuke out into the sky anyway, but Blast Off deciding to take evasive action prevented him. To Soundwave’s relief, Blast Off escaped into space and they were soon back at the Nemesis, where he managed to relieve Megatron of the missile, storing it at the back of a secure armoury where he deeply hoped that it would be forgotten about. Megatron having gone off to beat the slag out of some training dummies, Soundwave went to the medical bay, hoping to check on Laserbeak. Hook had implied that they might be able to online her soon, and Soundwave was hopeful that she would remember what had happened to her.

“Hey boss, we bustin’ Laserbeak out yet?” asked Rumble as Soundwave allowed him and Frenzy out of his chest compartment, the pair beaming up at him hopefully. The rest of his casseticons were all out on missions and he missed them, wishing that they were with him to greet their wounded sister back into the world.

“Soundwave: doesn’t know. Laserbeak: may have to stay in the medical bay for some time,” said Soundwave patiently. “We will check on her, and see if she knows how she was hurt.”

“Sounds good, boss,” said Frenzy, patting his leg. The two little mechs escorted Soundwave into the medical bay, where to Soundwave’s great relief, Laserbeak was conscious if weak, still laying on her wings on top of the cushion which Hook had repurposed as her medical berth because she was so small. Rumble and Frenzy immediately climbed up on the counter with their sister, Frenzy exclaiming, “Heya, Laserbeak! Howya feelin’?”

“Be careful, you two, she only just onlined a joor ago,” said Hook crossly, appearing from his office. He nodded to Soundwave, “As you can see, sir, she is well enough to be awake, but she is still very much in recovery. I doubt that she can talk, and I would not advise you planning any missions for her.”

“Laserbeak: will have no missions until medically cleared,” promised Soundwave. “Laserbeak: will rest and heal.”

Hook nodded approvingly, “She is healing well, it’s just going to take a while, sir. I’d recommend keeping your visit short because she probably won’t stay online very long - injuries like hers need a lot of recharge for self repair to work. I’ve given her lots of repair nanites to help and we’re keeping close track of her vitals, rest assured.”

Soundwave nodded his thanks and Hook disappeared back into his office where he could hear the mech silently discussing the farce of a battle they had had with his gestalt. It was almost funny that Hook and his gestalt mates refrained from speaking it aloud when everyone in the Decepticon army knew that Soundwave was a telepath. He listened for a klik as the gestalt wondered what the actual point of their last battle had been and centred his mind on Laserbeak, feeling her faint relief at seeing him shining through her processor’s fog of painkillers. He stepped close, running a thumb over her head and the little casseticon managed a squeak of greeting which was laced with affection, her two brothers exclaiming happily over the noise.

Laserbeak, prodded Soundwave mentally, after impressing that he reciprocated her feelings. _How did this happen to you? Can you remember for me?_

She tried to think, and remembered circling above… humans, humans with a tank, humans in green, in uniforms, somewhere on the Eastern Seaboard…

_ Where Buzzsaw found you,_ assumed Soundwave, but Laserbeak didn’t recall Buzzsaw coming for her. What she did remember, were_ wings_ \- fine, sensitive, colourful wings, twitching in the air, attached to… seekers. The Elite Trine; Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp, standing in a muddy field - their presence had drawn the human attack force, except the seekers hadn’t been attacking the humans - they had only assaulted the aliens in retaliation when the aliens had attacked first. Laserbeak remembered that Starscream… hadn’t seemed right; his wings had trembled in the air, not in the aggressive way which she was accustomed to, but… something different, and his wings hadn’t been held proudly, but drooped. And his face… Laserbeak shivered… he’d looked terrified for some reason, yet he had been looking out to sea at the _Nemesis_ and his trine had seemed confused by him, although she hadn’t been able to understand because they had been speaking Vosian.

She recalled Starscream looking up at her fearfully, and that was the very last thing which she remembered.

“Laserbeak: must rest,” said Soundwave softly after thanking her, and he stepped back to let her brothers update her on what was going on with the_ Nemesis,_ his own mind filtering through the memories which she had given him. A seeker’s claws could certainly have caused the deep lacerations to his creation’s tiny frame - Soundwave had seen seekers claw through far thicker plating than Laserbeak’s with disturbing ease. It was a seeker’s primary close range weapon, although Starscream was a good example of a seeker who was also skilled with swords and knives.

And yet… why? Starscream had kicked at Rumble and Frenzy before, (primarily when they had deserved it,) but he had never attacked any of Soundwave’s other creations (even though he tended to glare hatefully at Ratbat.) Soundwave’s other creations knew better than to mess with the temperamental seeker, and Starscream usually worked perfectly well with them - never once had Soundwave felt any reason to protect them from the seeker before. He even worked fairly well with Rumble and Frenzy most of the time, so why had he attacked Laserbeak unprovoked? Why had he looked so _scared?_

Soundwave thought back to what Dirge had said after he had returned, that Thundercracker and Skywarp had been under the belief that their mate had been stolen by the Autobots. That the pair had acted strangely before disappearing, agitated and fixated on a particular direction - towards the _Ark?_ That there had been shuttle tracks, something Soundwave found key, because Starscream had left to investigate the Autobot’s new shuttle, the one they had dug out of the ice. The seeker had hid whatever he had felt about the shuttle well, but Soundwave remembered an odd moment when Ravage had first reported the Autobot discovery of the shuttle when Starscream had looked almost grief-stricken.

He was abruptly very certain - Starscream was connected somehow to the new shuttle, and given the tracks at the scene of the seeker’s disappearance, the new shuttle had to know what had happened to him, perhaps even what had unhinged him enough to attack Laserbeak. Whatever it was surely had something to do with why he had not returned because no matter how much Megatron had distressed the seeker in the past, the seeker had always come back, even knowing that he would be beaten. Had Megatron’s threat to rape the seeker and spark him against his will finally broken the last thread of the once-faithful seeker’s loyalty? Or… had something else happened too? Had the Autobots done something?

It was just like them to want to take out the Decepticon Air Force, but Soundwave wasn’t sure if they had really planned that. Clearly, an investigation was needed - and thinking about it honestly, Soundwave hoped for Starscream’s own good that he was wise enough to stay away, because Megatron seemed mad enough to actually kill the seeker this time._  
_

* * *

Megatron had just figured out what he wanted to do with the windfall of the nuclear missile when the human warships returned to lay siege to the _Nemesis_ again. Soundwave tried to remind the mech that they’d be gone again as soon as there was a storm, but Megatron was absolutely beside himself with rage, shrieking again about disloyal seekers, so Soundwave politely excused himself to his hab suite where Ratbat was keeping a healing Laserbeak company. She had finally healed enough to continue her recovery in Soundwave’s quarters, which Soundwave was deeply grateful for considering the idiots which Hook frequently had as customers. He worried a little about Rumble and Frenzy being out while Megatron was raging, but he hoped that his creations were clever enough to stay away from the murderous warlord. Most of the rest of the army seemed to be hiding in their rooms too, so Soundwave hunkered down to wait for Megatron to calm down.

Having taken a well-deserved nap, Soundwave dared to step outside his quarters a few joors later to find Megatron standing calmly in the control room, the gladiator spitting at him in greeting, “Soundwave, they brought submarines this time!”

“Query: the_ Nemesis’_ shields still holding?” asked Soundwave.

“Yes, but I don’t see _storms_ chasing submarines off!” growled Megatron.

Soundwave thought about that, “Soundwave: will have Constructicons deploy mines.”

“Soundwave, those are for space!” protested Megatron.

“_Nemesis:_ is never returning to space,” Soundwave pointed out, and within a joor their submarine problem was significantly lessened, as was their warship problem (the sea floor also sporting several new artificial reefs.) The humans, apparently thoroughly cowed by the mines, retreated, freeing Megatron up to get his revenge, at least until Soundwave pointed out, “Decepticons: in need of fuel.”

Leaving the Constructicons behind to build more human-repelling ordnance, they took off to raid a fuel refinery, Megatron figuring that they could get by on revolting petroleum for a while until they had intel on an energon cache. Unimpressed with the Predacons’ first outing, Megatron put them on guard, and Soundwave wasn’t especially surprised when the murder happy fraggers left their posts. The Predacons having dispersed into a nearby town (judging by the amount of sirens going off they were having a splendid time entertaining themselves with the humans,) Soundwave directed the Combaticons to play sentry instead. Swindle attempted to bribe him to get out of it, but one glare sent the little scrapheap scurrying back to an equally unimpressed Onslaught.

Soundwave was somehow never surprised when their activities drew in Autobots, but the hoard of human fighter jets and tanks which showed up impressed him. The Predacons, lured back by the rumble of more dangerous prey, reappeared and had a splendid time attacking the human military vehicles. Just as Soundwave was considering that maybe they were useful after all, Sky Lynx, (their apparent nemesis,) showed up. This finally galvanized the idiots to form Predaking, but this did not trouble Sky Lynx very much. Predaking attempted to escape Sky Lynx to attack Superion instead, but the shuttle-thing was absolutely relentless, so that finally Predaking just started running for their life rather than face the Autobot Pit beast anymore.

“Why the frag did Starscream think those idiots would be useful?!” wondered Megatron angrily.

“Predaking: would be useful if Sky Lynx wasn’t here,” predicted Soundwave, then, with a grimace hidden by his mask admitting, “maybe.”

“This is just like all of Starscream’s plans!” snarled Megatron, very unfairly, given that Starscream’s plans usually netted them victory of some variety. Still, at least they had gained fuel, Soundwave reasoned, as they fled back to the _Nemesis_ to lick their wounds. In their absence the Constructicons had thoroughly mined the waters surrounding their ship and Soundwave felt reasonably confident that they would not be besieged again by the American Navy. Still, the troubles they were having with the humans and his dinner of horrendous tasting petroleum made Soundwave think about a frequent argument of Starscream’s, one which he had always rather wished that Megatron would listen to.

“Megatron: should consider contacting the _Victory_ for pickup,” strained Soundwave. “_Victory:_ could take care of _Ark_ with orbital bombardment -”

“NO! Have you lost your processor, Soundwave? I’m not giving Overlord the satisfaction!” snarled Megatron, pausing from beating the slag out of one of his combat dummies. “You sound like slagging Starscream!”

“Starscream: had a good point about this; the_ Nemesis:_ will never fly again,” stressed Soundwave. “Orbital bombardment would destroy _Ark_ and perhaps clinch Decepticon victory -”

“I said NO, Soundwave!” roared Megatron. “I must kill Optimus Prime myself!”

Soundwave retreated to the empty flight deck where he had once found peace in listening to the seekers’ adoring thoughts about each other. He remembered how Starscream had recorded an orn’s worth of footage of the seekers doing boring military things, then programmed the security monitor to loop it so that the seekers could carry out their private lives undisturbed. Once a metacycle, the seeker would record another loop, and only Soundwave had ever noticed the pattern. He looked up at the security camera, whose lens was painted over, and ex-vented, missing the seekers who had populated the large room, who had filled it with such peace uncanny to the war.

He remembered feeling their intensifying Sky Hunger, their innocent need to fly, and watching them soar, not in combat, but just in joy, chasing the _Nemesis_ through the stars, their frames sublime spots of colour in the twinkling darkness. He settled at the edge of a seeker trine’s nest, Hotlink’s, and remembered their outraged thoughts regarding Megatron’s plans for Starscream, as if the warlord were going to violate all of them, not just their leader.

_ Wrong, wrong, it’s wrong! This goes against Primus, against Vos!_

_ Only seekers should spark seekers; how else do we keep our air superiority?_

_ He’s a trined mech! Doesn’t the fragger get that? He’s seen Screamer with TC and Warp, hasn’t he? Doesn’t he know?! _

_ What an insult! We should kill Megatron!_

_ Shh… Soundwave will hear, love…_

_ This wouldn’t happen if we were back in Vos…_

_ Poor Screamer…_

_ We’ll kill the mutt. We’ll have to wait for the newspark to descend into its protoform, but TC and Warp will help, Screamer’s theirs, so -_

_ Shh! It’s Soundwave!_

Soundwave tipped his helm back, gazing at the beautiful ceiling which the seekers had painted to look like a sky, to trick themselves when they couldn’t soar. He thought of how he used to like visiting the outskirts of Polyhex with Ravage to watch sunrises grace the land, and the many centravorns he had been confined to the once-proud _Nemesis,_ now a dank, slowly rusting hulk at the bottom of an alien sea. He had not minded so much back when they had been in space, when they had still had the grace of the stars, and the vistas of alien planets gleaming in the light of their suns.

He stood and left the flight deck, hoping that Ravage and Buzzsaw would find out something about Starscream soon. Soundwave had no idea, really, why any of them followed Megatron anymore._  
_


	20. Yellowstreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which young Starscream meets some other poor mecha sharing his reprehensible fate, is annoyed by a very aggravating teacher, and meets a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure as always that you read the tags. :) I was too tired to write tonight, so I figured I'd upload a chapter instead.

Strut didn’t live with him anymore. As soon as his brother had onlined (before Starscream even had,) and been greeted back into the family as a sire-coded mech, he’d been sent to begin his training as something useful. Starscream was told that it was with tremendous pride that Missilefire had escorted Strut down to the guard barracks and given him to their older second cousin Lord Sunfire to personally train. Since they were adults now and Starscream had carrier-coding, Strut wasn’t allowed to live with him anymore - Starscream was allowed to stay in their room merely because being carrier-coded, he ‘shouldn’t be stressed.’ He was given a few orns to himself to ‘rest’ (meanwhile, Strut was booted gleefully straight into basic training,) then he was onlined obnoxiously early to Nightglow snarling at him to get up one morning.

“Why are you here? How did you get _in_ here?” moaned Starscream into his pillow. He hadn’t enjoyed his first orns as an adult at all - Comet had been in to fuss several times an orn but nobody else had ever stopped by, and when he had tried to escape his room to go somewhere else, (like the library to attempt research on escape options,) he had discovered that his door was locked. Attempting to fix this problem had led to the discovery that Killjoy had put an override on it and Starscream had yet to figure out (despite joors of dedicated attempts,) how to hack it. Although he could not admit it aloud, it distressed him that Comet was the only one of his creators or kin that he had seen - a sane mech would have expected Killjoy and Missilefire to at least pop in to check on him, to reassure him, but apart from the lock override he had not seen a trace of either. “Why isn’t Comet? When am I going to see Strut and my sires?”

“Because your sparked carrier cannot be bothered by your stresses anymore, Starscream, she has newsparks to nurture!” snapped Nightglow, which translated in Starscream’s processor to something implying his sires keeping his carrier away from him. “Get up! Carrier-coded mecha must online early, to take care of the flock!”

“I’m not taking care of anyone,” hissed Starscream, at which she grabbed his wingtip and _twisted_ evilly. “OW! Frag off, slagheap! I don’t want trinemates! I’m staying single forever!”

“You will not! Prince Starscream of Vos, come!” snarled Nightglow, then she bodily wrenched him from his nice comfortable berth and when he mutinously refused to stand, she pinched his wing again. 

“I hate you,” snapped Starscream as she dragged him out his door, into the silent hallway beyond. It didn’t look like anyone else was online and checking his newly installed HUD (slag the thing was cool - at least it was one perk of being an adult which hadn’t been overrated although he found it dumb that Raindrop had thought that it had needed a fuel gauge when his fuel tank had been telling him adequately whether it was empty or not just fine for his entire life,) Starscream couldn’t blame them. It was horribly early - even earlier than his demented sire Missilefire usually onlined. “My carrier never onlines this early.”

“That’s because she’s always sparked,” sniffed Nightglow. “Your sires are… prolific.”

“They’re dumbafts,” corrected Starscream, which earned him a painful flick.

“We do not speak ill of our betters, Starscream!” declared Nightglow imperiously, and she hauled him into the Royal Family’s classroom. Starscream had always previously loved the beautiful room, because it had been where he had first shown his superiority, but now he looked at it with dread as he knew that absolutely nothing good could possibly come of being in the place with his recent upgrades. The childish posters of the solar system and seeker anatomy seemed to mock him as Nightglow hustled him to a lounge at the front of the room. He was forced to take a seat, then she shoved a cube of energon at him, snapping, “Don’t you dare fall into recharge. This is for your own good, Starscream.”

Threat accomplished, she stalked out of the room and shut the door with a snap. Seeing as there was nobody in the room, Starscream groaned and unsealed his cube, thanking Primus for Nightglow’s decency in at least feeding him, yet he almost spat out his first sip the moment that the liquid touched his glossa.

“What the frag is this? Nightglow!” roared Starscream, jerking back to his pedes, but the matronly glitch was gone, and before he could reach the classroom door it abruptly opened, Starscream stumbling backwards at the sight of an obnoxiously hot pink mech whom he had never seen before. He jerked backwards away from him, startled, and nearly slopped the revoltingly sweet energon which Nightglow had given him all over himself. “Who the frag are you?!”

The pink mech glared at him, “Take a seat, Prince Starscream, I am your teacher.”

Starscream stared, “You’re _what_ now? I’m an adult, what the slag do I need a teacher for anymore?”

“Take a seat, Prince Starscream, and I will tell you,” snapped the pink mech imperiously.

“Um, no, I prefer to stand,” growled Starscream, wondering if the fragger was on a power trip because he was ordering him around.

“Then do so,” huffed the pink mech prissily, stalking over to the holoprojector. “You’ll have to wait a few kliks anyway, I need to set up and there are supposed to be more young mecha like yourself attending this orn. The Winglord thought that you would benefit from similarly coded company, so a few other noble seekers have agreed to have their newly upgraded carrier-creations train with you.”

“They can frag off,” hissed Starscream.

“Carrier-coded mecha do _not_ swear, Prince Starscream - and I wonder how you deserve to be called that,” sniffed the pink mech. “Now, be quiet - oh, hello Lord Cloudbreak! Welcome to the class!”

At the familiar designation, Starscream immediately stopped contemplating curses to swear at the top of his vocalizer to annoy the unnamed pink bastard and peered around. A pretty white and grey mech had just entered the classroom and remembering what his brother had said, Starscream swept his gaze over the interloper suspiciously.

“Hello, Professor Cooldawn,” said Cloudbreak politely.

“You are beautiful, Lord Cloudbreak! Welcome, welcome - why don’t you sit over here? You’ll be nice and comfortable,” promised Professor Cooldawn. Starscream wished that he’d been upgraded with functional null rays - it would have been fun to shoot the slagheap, but_ ‘carrier mecha don’t need weapons, Starscream!’_

“Mm, I’ll sit where I want,” decided Cloudbreak, Starscream perking up as he heard the slur of defiance. Perhaps Cloudbreak wasn’t a stupid, simpering slagheap, maybe - he jerked as he found Cloudbreak standing right next to him, white wings twitching politely in greeting. “Hello, Prince Starscream, your brother Prince Strut told me about you.”

“Hello,” said Starscream uncertainly.

“Well, I’m tired,” said Cloudbreak, seizing his servo, “and we’re stuck in here, so let’s sit down.” Starscream cycled his optics as Cloudbreak dragged him over to the lounge furthest from Cooldawn and flopped down, moaning, “I think my system’s still getting used to my upgrades, I’m so tired.”

“That’s just the joor,” grumbled Starscream, “they’re probably forcing us to do this now because the little cretins will have this room later.”

Cloudbreak snorted, “You’re beautiful. Come on, let’s pass out, there’s no way that this is going to be interesting.”

Starscream smirked and sat, “So what did you want to do before this dumb slag happened to you?”

“Oh, I knew that I had carrier-coding, so I didn’t bother expecting anything else,” grunted Cloudbreak, to his vast disappointment. “It was a given, you know? Also, can I call you Star? That’s what your brother calls you and it just seems like so much less effort.”

No longer amused by his new acquaintance, Starscream negated with his wings, at which Cloudbreak decided sleepily, “I’ll just call you that anyway, you’re being grumpy.”

“I am the Crown Prince’s first cousin -” hissed Starscream.

“Yeah, but I’m trining your brother,” negated Cloudbreak. “My sires have already approached your sires for him since our sparks’ll work, and I’m a good match, the Winglord even agreed.”

Starscream’s processor blanked and he squeaked, “W-what?!”

“Yeah, we’re totally gonna frag,” noted Cloudbreak boredly, snuggling against him. “S’get used to me, Star, we’re gonna be lazy together a lot, I ‘spect.”

Fragging Pit - if Starscream had had his brother’s comm frequency he would have screamed at him. He was mercifully distracted a klik later from the bizarreness of this bombshell by the appearance of two more newly upgraded carrier-seekers, a pair of femmes whom he had never met who giggled stupidly together as they walked through the door, then gasped at the sight of him.

“It’s him! It’s Prince Starscream!” 

“Hello, Prince Starscream!” exclaimed the duo, rushing over. “The Winglord told our creators that you needed company!”

Smelling idiots trying to gain favour with him a hic off, Starscream scowled and Cloudbreak took a tighter grip around Starscream’s arm, huffing, “Y’all can stop trying, he’s got me so he doesn’t need you. The new friend position vacancy has been officially filled.”

“And who are you?” demanded the first of the two, a pastel green femme.

“Lord Cloudbreak, ‘m gonna trine Prince Starscream’s littermate, Prince Strut,” declared Cloudbreak.

They seemed to process this for a moment, then the green femme proudly informed them, “Prince Starscream, I’m Freshnote, my creators are -”

Starscream instantly tuned her out, and he was almost grateful as Cooldawn abruptly declared enthusiastically, “Alright, class, let’s get underway; I am Professor Cooldawn, as you know, and I’m going to be teaching you about your coding and about what is expected of you as noble carriers!”

Starscream stiffened and beside him, Cloudbreak started snickering.

“Um, don’t we already know that?” demanded Starscream.

“I have been informed that you have been given a general idea of it as you have grown up, Prince Starscream, but nothing approaching a proper education,” beamed Cooldawn, apparently in love with torturing them over awkward subjects. “Now, your sire-coded counterparts will be going through something similar -” Starscream doubted this. From what Courageflight had told him and Strut, sire education had basically consisted of Lord Daggerpoint making sure that Courageflight knew which end to stick his spike in and that he shouldn’t spark merge with his trinemates in the same session as a penetrative interface unless he wanted a litter of seekerlings scampering around his pedes. “- so please know that they are being educated on this matter as well.” Lies.

Cooldawn fired up the holoprojector weirdly triumphantly and Starscream covered his face at which Cloudbreak started wheezing with laughter beside him. Cooldawn didn’t appear to notice; the other two noble idiots were hanging onto his every glyph as he informed them as graphically as he possibly could that because they were carrier-coded, their spikes didn’t work properly.

“Why don’t they work, Professor Cooldawn?” asked Freshnote batedly.

“Primus, are you stupid?” snarled Starscream, losing his temper. “Is it not obvious? We’re fragging carrier-coded, why the frag would we have functional spikes? Spikes are for siring you dumbaft!”

“Prince Starscream, that is rude!” snapped Cooldawn. “Apologize to Lord Freshnote -”

“No! I don’t want to be here, nobody_ asked_ me whether I wanted to be here, I outrank Freshnote so I can say whatever the Pit I want to him, and I already know this slag, I learned it half a decavorn ago so your presence is redundant, plus you’re not even a professor!” shrieked Starscream, standing and flaring his wings at the pink horror. “Why don’t you just get on with the part where you tell us that we’re supposed to be good little useless brood mechanimals? Because that’s _all_ we are! We’re never going to be allowed to amount to anything in this society; we’re going to be sold for high shanix because we’re noble, _then_ we’re going to spend the rest of our Primus-awful lives popping out slagging litters until we die. The end!”

“Um, Prince Starscream, at least we’re allowed to carry, common seekers can’t without permission -” scowled Freshnote’s companion, completely missing Starscream’s point.

“We should have to follow the same process as common seekers, we’re not special,” hissed Starscream, Cloudbreak downright cackling beside him. “The only thing which makes us noble is who created us, which is a fluke!”

“Prince Starscream, _please,_ you are disrupting the class!” moaned Cooldawn, making it sound as if Starscream was doing him a personal affront. “Now, if you will concentrate; Prince Starscream is right to some degree - it is entirely because we are carriers that our spikes are smaller and cannot produce transfluid, although they do excrete lubricant so we can use our spikes recreationally if we so choose -”

Starscream felt like he would implode from how annoying his class was and he forcibly reminded himself that if he could just sit through this slag, he might have a chance to go to the library, and escape Killjoy’s infernal home arrest.

“In other glyphs we can frag,” piped up Cloudbreak with a smirk.

“Lord Cloudbreak, please,” beseeched Cooldawn, “do not be so crass -”

“You’re the one teaching us about fragging interface,” huffed Starscream, Freshnote and his friend glaring murder at both him and Cloudbreak now.

“Interface is fragging,” agreed Cloudbreak. 

“Lord Cloudbreak, Prince Starscream, _please_ cut out the comments -” pleaded Cooldawn, but Starscream was determined not to listen to him and it seemed that Cloudbreak’s mission in life was to raise Pit, so they kept interjecting. Cooldawn was annoyingly determined despite this and by the time his class ended (a full, horrible five joors later,) he had detailed exactly how interface worked, with revolting promises to teach them how to court a trinemate the next orn.

“So we can get it on, right?” piped up Cloudbreak.

“Lord Cloudbreak! You will desist! Interface is for when you are trined and not before -”

“Great, me an m’spike are just gonna be friends until then,” smirked Cloudbreak. “Thanks for telling us how to pop our covers.”

Cooldawn, to Starscream’s vast glee, looked absolutely mortified. “I did not tell you that so that you could defile yourself, Lord Cloudbreak! Don’t you_ dare!”_

“Totally daring!” crowed Cloudbreak, snatching Starscream by the hand and prancing swiftly for the door. “C’mon, Star, let’s bounce, before anymore old slagheaps show up!”

“You’re not actually?” asked Starscream curiously as they burst out into the hallway, Cooldawn yelling (reluctantly, Starscream noted,) that he expected to see them at the very same time the next orn.

“I dunno, haven’t decided yet, but I just made my carrier fifty shanix, he totally bet against my sires that I’d run that teacher idiot ragged,” smirked Cloudbreak. “C’mon, show me around your digs, Star, never been in this part of the palace!”

Although Starscream really only wanted to get his aft to the library and study as much as he could, he supposed that a new ally might be useful, especially since Cloudbreak knew Strut. As hurriedly as possible (fearing being wrangled by some horrible kinseeker,) he showed Cloudbreak around, carefully making sure that the tour ended in the library. Unfortunately, Cloudbreak was barely interested in this but fortunately for Starscream, a guard came for Cloudbreak not long after getting there; apparently his creators (whom he was in regular conversation with, unlike Starscream,) were asking for him. Starscream promptly hid behind a bookcase and started hastily searching for titles which might be relevant, stuffing them into his subspace then finally settling for swiping a datapad with a network connection off of the Royal Librarian’s desk when one of the littlest flock seekerlings toddled in.

“Yellowstreak, where’s your carrier? How did you escape again?” he heard the librarian bemoaning as Starscream sauntered past, datapad in his possession and hoping to snatch more slag before he was caught. He knew that he was pressing his luck, that he should probably run like Pit before someone with power over his life showed up, but he couldn’t help it; he was starved for slag to read and study. If he was going to be stuck in his room most of the time and unable to fly, then he could at least have interesting slag to look at (even though he had already read at least half of the library’s contents.)

A tinny little squeak reminded him why he didn’t particularly like his younger relatives, but since it wasn’t his problem, he stooped over to look at something, flinching as the librarian made a relieved sound then walked up to him. He attempted to ignore her, but at her click he looked up and froze at the sight of the squirming, wiggling little ball of baby seeker which was clutched in her servos. “Prince Starscream, please take your younger brother back to your carrier Lord Comet, he’s obviously gotten away from her again.”

Starscream stared blankly at her, then at the yellow and black seekerling without recognition. He couldn’t recall ever seeing the little runt before and the thing was moving non-stop rather alarmingly, tiny wing nubs flicking with what he supposed was excitement, a big friendly smile on the seekerling’s round face.

“Sir, please,” insisted the librarian, holding out the puny creature imploringly. “Take your brother.”

Since the last thing Starscream wanted to do was _touch_ something as gross as a sparkling, no matter whom it was related to, he took a decided step backwards away from it instead. “You’re mistaken, that’s not my brother.”

The librarian stared at him in shock, “Prince Starscream, he’s the only yellow seekerling in the entire flock; he _is_ your brother, don’t you recognize him?”

“I most certainly do not, and I am not responsible for him even if he is,” scowled Starscream.

Her jaw actually dropped, and it occurred faintly to Starscream that she disapproved of him, which was proven as she squawked indignantly, “Prince Starscream! I was informed that you had carrier-coding -”

“Which doesn’t make him my responsibility anymore than anyone else’s,” snorted Starscream. “Just because one has a particular string of coding doesn’t mean that they should use it.”

With this last triumphant sentence, Starscream turned away, intending to escape, only to freeze rigid as the peon known as Yellowstreak stopped making happy little grunts and abruptly trilled in fright, the sound doing something very bizarre to his spark. Suddenly, he couldn’t help turning back to Yellowstreak, whose little face brightened as they made optical contact and he gaped as the tiny seeker clumsily reached for him, whistling excitedly.

“It seems that he _is_ your responsibility, as you are his elder brother,” snapped the librarian coldly, and somehow Starscream couldn’t stop her from offloading the soft bundle of infant plating into his servos. “Go. Take him to your carrier - like a good creation.”

“Frag off,” hissed Starscream, but despite himself he clutched Yellowstreak against his chest, hurrying away, contemplating as he went how he might deposit Yellowstreak back where he belonged without being seen. Instead of wriggling like mad as he had in the librarian’s servos, the seekerling was still, something about his presence so close making Starscream’s spark ache in a way that it never had before. Yellowstreak gripped his chest plating with the tiniest of claws, the things almost transparent with his scant vorns and Starscream’s venting hitched when the tiny mech stretched out towards his neck, then tucked his helm under Starscream’s chin with a litany of softly contented chirps. Starscream’s desperation to be free of the little seeker built steadily and reaching his creators’ door, he shouldered inside, immediately hearing Comet trilling desperately.

“Where the Pit could he have gone? Missilefire, why weren’t you paying attention?” Killjoy was snarling, making Starscream stop in his tracks, grateful that his creation trine couldn’t see him yet and that none of his other younger siblings were present in his current room. Were they looking for Yellowstreak, or for him? Yellowstreak seemed almost confused too, the tiny seeker huddling more tightly against him, cocking his tiny head as he listened.

“Comet and I were in recharge, Killjoy -” hissed Missilefire.

“Comet has an excuse! You don’t! Argh! This orn cannot get any worse - first Starscream was an absolute _pest_ this morning and now Yellowstreak -” growled Killjoy.

Yellowstreak chose that instance to betray himself and Starscream, trilling for Comet.

“Yellowstreak!” hissed Starscream and hearing pedes hurrying his way, he attempted to place Yellowstreak on the floor, only to discover that seekerling claws were much more capable than they appeared. “Ow! Let go you little -” he flinched at the sight of all three of his creators darkening the doorway and scowled, “Found this in the library, you can have it back now.”

Yellowstreak, seeing their creators, finally unlatched his claws and feeling angry just at the sight of his sires, Starscream hastily dumped the seekerling on the padded bench beside the door then whirled for safety.

“Starscream, you will _stop,”_ snapped Killjoy but Starscream was already halfway out the door and running, despite Comet’s whines that he should spend more time with Yellowstreak. Killjoy tore out after him and Starscream sped up, determined to get back to his room (even if that was a dumb place to hide, _eventually_ Killjoy would leave and he’d be able to study in peace.) “Starscream! Stop right now! As I am your sire you will obey me, you have had very poor decorum this orn and I want you to explain yourself -”

Reaching his berthroom door, Starscream slammed inside and dashed for his washrack. Predictably, Killjoy stormed into his room an instance later, snapping, “Starscream!”

“Get out, fragger!” snarled Starscream, baring his claws. “You don’t give a slag about me anymore, don’t even pretend that you do! You’re just going to sell me so frag off and don’t you dare pretend that you care! Carrier-coded seekers are worth _nothing_ and you’ll be _glad_ when I am gone, I know you will!”

“Starscream!” hissed Killjoy, actually looking aghast, which Starscream didn’t believe at all. “How dare you say that! I love your carrier with every nuance of my spark -”

“Then stop fragging sparking her, you aft helm!” screeched Starscream, hysterically noticing how his sire didn’t mention loving him at all. “I have so many siblings I can’t even remember their designations! Go away!”

“Starscream, don’t you dare debase creation; we do it out of love, because we adore raising little ones together -” gasped Killjoy, idiotically shocked.

“Yet you care so little about the adult version that you weren’t even present when I onlined from my upgrades and neither was Missilefire; I bet you were there for Strut!” snarled Starscream, and he tore into his washrack, slamming then locking the door behind him. Unfortunately, of course his sire had the override code and Starscream expected, _wanted_ Killjoy to storm inside to correct him, but Killjoy didn’t. Instead he heard his sire ex-vent loudly with a growl, then he heard his sire’s pedes recede without even a glyph, without any argument or protest whatsoever. Starscream stared at the door, his wingtips falling, and with a hiss he yanked the stolen datapad out of his subspace, beginning to hack it to get through the high security filter which his aunt’s spymaster imposed on all Vosian mecha.

Succeeding, he picked a random citystate name off the top of his processor and tagged it with the Neocybex glyph for ‘university’ then tapped SEARCH. He was getting out of Vos - he was getting an education - and he refused to cry because the sire he had loved best no longer cared about him.


	21. Newsparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Starscream attempts to rid himself of a problem and instead finds out exactly how strong his instincts are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm rather against warning people about happenings in stories (lookitthetaaaags,) because you DON'T get such warnings when you are reading a paperback novel, but Starscream tries to do something to himself in this one which maaaaybe people will find ack? Nothing bad happens, I promise!

The cave wasn’t a terrible place to live, Starscream had decided - it might have lacked proper conviences like a wash rack, but Starscream was fine without there being a berth, especially after Ramjet brought back a tarp for him to lay on as a barrier between himself and the sand. The tarp was crinkly, and somewhat unpleasant, smelling a bit dank, but it was better than the grit which had been getting stuck in his transformation seams whenever he laid down, which was, sadly, most of his time. Standing for long periods was uncomfortable and he scarcely enjoyed sitting up either, not that he was willing to let anyone but his trine know. It was impossible to hide his discomfort from them; they could feel it in the bond and Starscream could not help but think that Comet had never seemed as badly off as he was. She had always been quite mobile, even right up to the final decaorn or so of giving birth when his sires had fussed insufferably over her.

He onlined to the same dim, artificial light which he had drifted into recharge to - the one failing point of the cave was that it was as bad as the _Nemesis_ in terms of its lack of view. Despite having rested two orns, during which his faction had made little progress and he had been largely stationary, Starscream didn’t feel like he had gained at all in his health. He certainly did not feel any more enthused about apparently being in a creator state and noting that neither of his trinemates were present, that he was actually alone in the room apart from Nacelle’s trine, who were recharging, he haggardly stood up, grumpily wondering what the latest progress was on raiding. Staggering his first few steps, the tarp shifting noisily so that Nacelle flicked a wing, Starscream schooled his frame into grace with annoying difficulty, then headed for the cave entrance. He told himself that he was going to demand a report but his wings quivered for flight and despite the horrible gritty supplements which Nova Storm had forced upon him, he felt himself longing for… _something,_ again.

Searing midday light half blinded him as he got close and he halted, listening as he heard a scuff of pedes, abruptly very conscious of the feel of his trine very nearby. They seemed focused, and not at all paying attention to him, which was good news for sneaking off if he wanted to. He moved closer to the exit, the mission report fading from importance as his deeper processor told him that if he found what he needed it would make his innards stop hurting. He flexed his wings out, readying them, and as his optics adjusted to the vivid equatorial light he took in the cave’s surroundings, which he had not had a chance to appreciate before when he had arrived.

Around their impromptu base the harsh, rocky area was hilly, infested with tough scratchy plants which left scuffs in delicate plating. It was a tough land, which no grounder would willingly want to navigate, and despite the lack of tall escarpments, Starscream thought it ideal terrain for seekers. With no easy passage for grounders and nowhere handy for a heavily laden shuttle to land it made for an excellent hideaway. Further, there was not a single human settlement for several thousand hics so no organics would be remarking upon seeing them, although Hotlink had reported seeing dusty traces of old roads. There was also no water within close walking range, further making it inhospitable to human life, bringing a refreshing change to where the seekers had lived before. Altogether, Starscream was smug at how much superior their cave base was to the _Nemesis_ geographically.

Having taken in the terrain, Starscream’s gaze shifted closer and he was tactically pleased to see a trine - Crosswind’s - guarding the entrance. Just beyond he could see a blue wing patterned tellingly with red trimmed white and he knew that Skywarp was lurking just beyond his view with Thundercracker. From his second hand sense of them, he knew that Jadewing’s trine was also present and he ruffled his plating as he considered what he wanted. His trine was appealing - but so was the landscape beyond, something bizarrely more important than supply matters making him move as quietly as possible into the cave entrance.

“Star! Hey, you came out!” chirruped Skywarp, scrabbling to his pedes instantly and subspacing a datapad which he had been looking at with Thundercracker. Thundercracker also stood up and Starscream contemplated them, admiring them for a klik before walking dismissively past, focused on finding what his frame needed. Skywarp’s wings drooped and he was instantly by Starscream’s side, chirping, “Hey, what are we doing? Nova Storm said you should rest.”

“Please, Skywarp, I’ve recharged enough,” huffed Starscream, lifting his wings and onlining his thrusters in preparation for takeoff. “I’ve got slag to do.”

“What kind of slag?” asked Skywarp curiously, thinking _Can I come with?_

“Star,” said Thundercracker, his glyphs absolutely dripping disapproval. “We should stay here and avoid being seen. Nova Storm is right, you need to keep your activity levels low - STAR! Fragging Pit!”

Starscream was too busy bursting the sound barrier, Skywarp gleefully right beside him to respond to this slag. Thundercracker commenced a campaign of nagging through the bond as he leapt to follow them, lecturing Starscream about how he needed to remember that he was fuelling for (likely) four and that if he really insisted on being active, couldn’t they go for a nice tame walk? Or a ‘face? (Skywarp immediately piped up agreement to this latter.) Starscream ignored both of them, focused on scanning the ground far below and he paid no attention to the patrolling trine which hailed them, asking where the slag they were going. Wasn’t the Winglord supposed to stay in their faction’s protected airspace?

::Yeah, but I think he’s trying to supplement himself with something again,:: gritted Thundercracker. ::He won’t stop.::

::Isn’t that what the supplements Nova Storm gave you are for?:: asked Thrust.

::Apparently they don’t cover everything,:: grumbled Thundercracker. ::They aren’t flight frame specific.::

::What’s he after then?:: wondered Ramjet.

::Pit if we know,:: said Thundercracker and the guard trine drew into formation behind and slightly below them, chattering with Starscream’s trinemates theories about what he might be after. Starscream pretended that they were not there, his sensors lacked on the desert hics below, and after a while his escorts went silent, only to protest illogically when he finally had a sense of what he needed. Deaf to their shouts, he swept in for a landing on the spongy ground of a dump which reeked horrifically and which made his pedes feel unclean, then, ignoring his own disgust (it seemed secondary,) he began to look around, pausing only briefly to glare at the few humans who were screaming in terror at the sight of him. Hissing, he turned away and for once was not at all interested in watching Dirge’s trine attack, the human problem taken care of in mere kliks. 

“Starscream, what are we doing here?” moaned Thundercracker (Skywarp was delightedly running around looking for more humans to kill.) “It _smells_ here.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” sneered Starscream.

“Star, what if a human gets away and the Autobots find out?” demanded Thundercracker. “They’ll _find_ us -”

“TC, we’re two joors away from our base, they won’t find us,” decided Starscream, delicately lifting up some random scrap (it looked like a very puny berth frame,) and peering underneath of it. Everything was revoltingly filthy - he never usually would have touched it, but usually… usually his circuits weren’t messed up by newsparks (which he still refused to believe in.)

“They’ll know that we’re in South America,” protested Thundercracker. He twitched at Starscream discovering an old, brightly coloured and exceedingly puny computer monitor, “Star, no - what are you doing with that? Star, you don’t know where that’s been, Star -”

Starscream smashed it on the ground and commenced ripping it apart with his claws, crouching over it with a purr of satisfaction as he saw a glitter of yellow metallic within. Thundercracker attempted to snatch the computer from him and he swatted his mate, Thundercracker jerking his servo back with a whimper of pain. Starscream used his momentary distraction to tear the computer’s motherboard out and he inspected it critically for a klik. Part of him, the normal part, knew that he was being an idiotic weirdo - unfortunately, that part was vastly overruled by instincts which screamed at him to ingest what he needed. It was like being yelled at by Megatron - except unlike Megatron, Starscream found himself incapable of ignoring it. He needed what was in the motherboard, and who cared if in eating it he consumed other metals besides the gold, the copper?

“Star! Ew! No! Seriously, stop!” cried Thundercracker but Starscream flittered away from him and did his almighty best to snap the tiny motherboard into swallowable pieces with his denta. Thundercracker sprang after him and Starscream growled in annoyance as he managed to ingest the shattered computer bits, succeeding just as his trinemate grabbed him by a wing. He flicked Thundercracker’s servo off and attempted to go looking for more but Thundercracker had somehow recruited Skywarp back to his cause without him noticing, and Starscream squeaked as he suddenly found himself several hundred hics above the garbage dump.

“Primus, you smell, Star!” exclaimed Skywarp.

“Let’s get him a bath, we can scrub him with sand and water; I’m going to need it too,” ex-vented Thundercracker.

“I need to go back! Let go of me!” hissed Starscream.

“No, we’re going to find a river where we are going to bathe, then we’re going to go home, feed you some nice normal energon, then you’re going to recharge,” growled Thundercracker. “Primus, Star, what’s gotten into you? That was literal garbage!”

Starscream found that he didn’t care, and he kept trying to break free, but the slagheap was stronger than him and Dirge’s trine were annoyingly amiable to Thundercracker’s hygiene plan. He was forced away from the dump, then made to fly for far too long looking for a river, where he made sure his trine _knew_ exactly how much he disliked being forced to sit in the horribly cold water while they scrubbed at him, moaning about how hard it was to rid his plating of _the smell._ He screeched and hissed furiously at them, but still they inflicted the horrible cold bath on him (normally, he felt he would have been onboard with it, but being cold had never been so unpleasantly unacceptable before.) Afterwards, instead of letting him rest in the sun to warm up, they made him fly all the way back to the base and Starscream was too exhausted to do anything more than growl irritably when he saw Acid Storm scowling at them from the cave entrance.

“Winglord - Lord Thundercracker, Lord Skywarp, where were you?!” demanded Acid Storm.

“Starscream got it into his processor that he wanted to eat human computer parts,” hissed Thundercracker, nearly as done as Starscream was. “He flew us to a fragging garbage dump which stunk, then we had to bathe him in a river - oh, and humans saw us.”

“I think we killed them all, sir,” sighed Dirge.

“Yes, but they’ll find the bodies,” huffed Thundercracker, a concern which Starscream currently could not care about. He moved faster, wanting his recharge spot, and was deeply annoyed as he was followed, yet nobody interfered when he curled up on his tarp. Skywarp immediately tucked his thermal blanket around him and feeling considerably better with the addition of the blanket, he shuddered - his fuel tank didn’t feel nearly as appreciative of the computer bits as his coding was.

“Those supplements are clearly insufficient, Nova Storm,” noted Acid Storm grumpily. “Unless he gets what he needs he’s going to wander off again; Winglord, you _really_ need to stay here. If we’re lucky the Autobots and the Decepticons won’t hear about the incident at the dump, so you can’t go back there - you know that, don’t you?”

The sane, tactical, proper, rational part of Starscream did - but the other half of his processor was in belligerent disagreement, so he compensated by glaring at all of them. “I’m not crazy.”

“No, you’re carrying,” sighed Nova Storm, touching his cheek. For some reason, Starscream tolerated this, and Nova Storm grimaced, peering beseechingly at their trines, “Lord Thundercracker, Acid Storm, we’re just going to have to bring him things for him to supplement himself with. Better we bring them to him than him be injured or attacked trying to look after his litter; his carrier-coding is obviously very strong.”

Slag. Starscream laid his helm on the tarp, feeling too miserable to keep holding it up, his fuel tank aching and aching. If this was carrying, then why again had his late carrier seemed addicted to it? What if - what if he was just sick? Perhaps the Autobots had poisoned him with something, a virus to make it_ seem_ like he was carrying to trick his trine and his seekers -

“Nova Storm, Star feels so uncomfortable,” pleaded Skywarp. “Even with the low grade energon.”

Nova Storm grimaced, “He’s having a hard first carrying. It should ease off soon, I think - but I don’t know! When I carried my litter Vos was strong, and we had proper jet grade - I don’t remember ever really being anything like this.”

“Could he miscarry?” asked Thundercracker worriedly.

“I hope not,” said Nova Storm, “although I don’t recall ever hearing about that being a thing with seekers. Oh, I wish that his carrier was still alive, everything would be so much easier for him if he had her!”

Starscream severely doubted this and he endeavoured not to think about warm, comforting turquoise plating or a gentle voice. Funny, how the absence suddenly hurt again…

“I just wish that we had a full medic who knew about treating carriers and newsparks,” grimaced Thundercracker. “They could tell us exactly what he needed, and give us it.”

“I doubt that any of the medics still alive this orn qualify, most of them became medics out of necessity,” said Acid Storm, wings flicking anxiously. “Hook probably doesn’t even know what a carrier looks like, much less a newspark.” He rubbed at his face, groaning, “What was in the thing he consumed?”

“You said a computer, Thundercracker?” inquired Bitstream.

“Yes,” said Thundercracker, his side of the bond exhausted with worry. “It looked like its processor.” 

“Could be quite a few things, but copper, silver, gold, quartz, silica, aluminium, lead, iron and zinc are pretty prominent. Lithium is in batteries here,” said Bitstream. “Gold isn’t in very good supply on this planet, I know that.”

“We will bring him those things regardless,” decided Acid Storm. He ex-vented, “Lord Thundercracker, my trine and I are going forth on reconnaissance now; please be sure he is taxed no further this orn.”

“Wouldn’t mate until next orn,” confirmed Nova Storm.

“Aw, Star…” groaned Skywarp.

Hating being talked about even if he was too tired to add anything, Starscream merely covered his helm with the blanket and listened as Acid Storm’s trine walked away. If he was carrying, then his newsparks were a nuisance - the little parasites seemed to be changing absolutely everything, something which they surely had no right at all to do. Starscream wished that they would have had the decency to show up at some point more convenient (or preferably never at all.) The tiny fraggers were steadily ruining not only his plans and his health, but his self respect as well, not to mention they had made his trine stupid(er.) Because of his newsparks, he had been driven to eat _garbage_ of all things; they had stolen his dignity as well as his energy and Starscream hissed softly to himself as he made up his mind.

* * *

Thundercracker and Skywarp knew nothing - they might have discovered his plan had spark merging been a thing for them still, but Starscream had not felt like blending his spark with theirs since the horrible interface dream which had apparently been real. Had he felt like himself, he would have said that he strategically waited until they were elsewhere - in glum reality, he onlined to them gone, the fraggers having apparently left him in the charge of Dirge’s trine, who had evidently been using this as an excuse to sleep in.

Pleased for once at their idiocy, Starscream dug in his subspace for his surgical kit and opened the metal box, rearranging himself so that he was sitting upright. Retrieving the antiseptic, he peered hatefully at the slight distention in his middle which said very obviously despite his never having given consent that he was sparked. Cybertronians didn’t get fat like organics did - the only reason he could currently look like one (apart from something savagely chemical happening in which case he was probably a dead mech without Hook,) was pregnancy.

Well, no more - getting rid of the _problem_ would be as easy as making sure he didn’t ever go into heat - same procedure and everything, just no trinemates to help by making the pain more tolerable. Stubbornly dampening his side of the trinebond as much as he could (he could still vibrantly feel how simplistically happy the idiots were in the sunshine outside where it was apparently a nice orn,) he smeared the antiseptic over his middle, wincing at the cold liquid. Sealing the bottle, he readied a syringe of topical sedative and made certain that there was ready steel gauze close at servo. He almost cried out when he applied the sedative, unable to remember if it had ever hurt so much before, but somehow he managed to keep his part of the bond dim, and he hoped that his trinemates would mistake any pain they felt from him for what had become his usual. 

He refused to think about how upset they were going to be, how excited both were at the prospect of newsparks, how particularly gleeful Skywarp was, how he would no longer be on the receiving end of Thundercracker’s soft looks, which he had previously only ever favoured Skywarp with. (Of course, that made sense; Skywarp was Thundercracker’s first trinemate and Starscream had forced himself into their lives.) Starscream reached for the laser scalpel, attempting to tell himself that he didn’t care, that it didn’t matter at all that the mecha he was about to murder were born of his own spark fusing with his beloved mates,’ that their puny beginnings of frames were perfect mixtures of his trine’s genetics. His servo shook as he wrapped his digits around the scalpel’s handle and his entire arm was quivering as he lifted the surgical tool from the box, his thumb almost missing the button to power it on.

Starscream brought the blade near his midriff, ex-vented in nervous anticipation and near instantly dropped the scalpel as fierce panic abruptly slammed through his systems. Terror like he had never felt before, even facing Megatron’s live fusion canon assailed him and a feeling of intense betrayal shook his frame as he sprang away from his surgery tools with panicked squeal. He was barely aware of Dirge’s trine coming online - all he could think about was getting himself as far away from the laser scalpel as he could, and he struggled to find a hiding place as instinct screamed at him to become unseen. A vop startled him and with a squeak he lunged for his trinemate, who was nearly as wild with panic as he was as he snatched him close, then looked wildly around for what had frightened him.

“What the frag is going on?!” roared Thundercracker, vents heaving as he tore into the cave chamber with them, and not seeing an obvious enemy, Starscream forgot to circulate air as his dominant trinemate zeroed in on Dirge’s trine, null rays humming online. “Dirge, what the frag did you do?!”

“Nothing! We were recharging, we have no idea what happened!” squawked Dirge, recoiling away from Thundercracker. “Screamer onlined us, last we knew he was in recharge under his blanket!”  
Thundercracker growled murderously and Starscream clung harder to Skywarp who was frantically checking him over, examining his still relatively pristine wings, his thrusters. Thundercracker seemingly refused to look away from Dirge’s trine until the moment when Skywarp inevitably found the orange tint of antiseptic on Starscream’s middle, a panicked whimper escaping both of them as his digits brushed gently at the drying liquid, Skywarp tasting it and recognizing what it was with wide optics. Thundercracker went rigid and slowly looked around at them, Starscream hastily trying to hide his middle from him against Skywarp’s, but it was too late, Skywarp having already transmitted the discovery over their bond. Starscream started sobbing, his guilt and fear intensifying until he felt physically ill, his wings shaking so hard that the only thing holding him up was Skywarp.

“Why, Star?” whimpered Skywarp as Thundercracker’s attention turned to Starscream’s surgery kit on the floor. “Why would you do it?”

_ They’re ruining everything, they’re making me sick and because of them…_ he stopped trying to describe it and pushed all his feelings at them instead, his intake hitching as he struggled to keep his fuel tank’s contents down. Thundercracker bent down and tediously gathered Starscream’s surgery things back into the box, snapping it shut with shaking servos which steadied as he stuck the box in his subspace. With the box and its contents out of sight, Starscream’s spark stopped its violent whirling, his vents suddenly able to cycle properly again.

_ But they’re our newsparks,_ pleaded Skywarp simply, responding to what Starscream had given him with all the love which he somehow already held for their offspring, or at least for the _idea_ of them. Skywarp had never thought of himself as a creator, but he remembered distantly how loving his own creators had been, and he wanted to pass on the favour, enchanted with the notion of his own tiny little replicas (even if he only barely even knew what seekerlings looked like - in his imagination infant seekers seemed to look like microscopic adults, which was wildly inaccurate.) He wanted to love them, protect them, give them his wonder for the universe which hadn’t yet been tarnished even by the war, show them the glory which was glitter and teach them dumb things, like the many uses of industrial bonding agents.

“He knows,” said Thundercracker quietly, his own side of the bond surprisingly sympathetic, yet poignant with relief that Starscream’s carrier-coding had stopped him from doing what had been for him the unthinkable. He pushed at Starscream what the newsparks represented at him - a chance of a peaceful future where they could fly with grace again, taking to the air not for battle, but simply because flying was their joy. “Let’s go back outside, he’ll calm down better there.”

Skywarp teleported them instantly, Starscream shivering as they made him sit in front of the cave, then hugged him between him, all three of them disconcerted by what had almost happened, all three of them deeply relieved that it had not. Their newsparks were safe again and Starscream gave an involuntary whine when Thundercracker reached under his wing, touching his belly with a servo that he couldn’t even feel because of the topical sedative. With a cloth and a small, precious amount of solvent which Thundercracker had kept they dabbed the antiseptic away, then they simply hugged him, the other seekers in their faction who were present looking on worriedly. 

“One of us stays with you all the time from now on,” murmured Thundercracker. “You can’t be left alone. This time we were lucky, but who knows when Soundwave’s going to send his casseticons after us? Predaking? Dirge wasn’t paying attention; you could have been attacked so easily, and… you could have succeeded, if not for your coding.”

Starscream almost started hyperventilating again at the reminder and Skywarp hushed him, rubbing his wings. They stayed huddled tight with him long into the orn, only stirring when Acid Storm’s trine landed in front of them, the vibrant green seeker immediately seeming suspicious as he saw the way that they were entwined, Starscream mostly hidden between his mates.

“What happened?” demanded Acid Storm.

“We’re not sure, but they’ve been like this all orn,” said Jadewing uneasily.

“We were onlined by the Winglord yelping and his trine rushing in,” said Dirge. “No idea what happened, they haven’t explained.”

Acid Storm exchanged looks with his trinemates then eyed Starscream’s trine again, “Lord Thundercracker, is the Winglord alright?”

“Yes, we just had a bad scare,” vented Thundercracker heavily. “Star hasn’t been willing to return inside.”

“It’s going to get cold out here overnight,” noted Ion Storm.

“We’d all feel better if he was made secure, Lord Thundercracker,” agreed Nova Storm. “Also, we found some aluminium in a foil format for him.”

“Thank you,” said Thundercracker, drawing Starscream back onto his pedes. _Come on, loves, Ion is right, it is already starting to get colder so let’s go inside._

Starscream didn’t want to, and he balked at seeing his tarp, but his trine coaxed him over, silently reminding him that he was safe from the scalpel because Thundercracker had it. Skywarp curling up with him helped, and Thundercracker sat in front of them to talk with Acid Storm’s trine, his right servo wrapped comfortingly around Starscream’s left. Weirdly too uncomfortable to speak, Starscream pressed his question for Acid Storm at Thundercracker through their bond, Thundercracker immediately inquiring, “Starscream asks: ‘so what did you find, General Acid Storm?’”

“The aluminium, for one,” said Acid Storm, looking curiously at Starscream then gesturing at Nova Storm to hand it over, Starscream inspecting the tiny roll of metal with Skywarp as Thundercracker passed it to him. “We found no energon, but we brought back fuel - petroleum, unfortunately, but it was superior to the diesel which we found in greater quantity. We did not feel willing to consume the diesel; it seemed… filthy. Additionally we found a small amount of naphtha, and we noted where the local human population has an air force base. Their crafts are poor, and no match for us, but they may have artillery out of sight, plus they may have powerful allies, like the Americans.”

Starscream squeezed Thundercracker’s servo and looked up at him beseechingly, the blue seeker groaning, “Really, Star? I don’t want to make your snide remarks for you.”

Starscream made a silent, curious observation regarding how they had not mated in two orns.

“His _Majesty,”_ began Thundercracker with significant sarcasm, “wishes to make a snarky aside about how the humans here are technically Americans as well, since ‘they were so dumb as to name both of their continents which aren’t even technically connected anymore ‘America.’’”

Ion Storm snickered, “He is right about that.”

“Well, sir, we are in Peru,” noted Nova Storm. 

“The Autobots seldom come this way, and Bitstream in his monitoring of the human’s communications has seen no notice about them noticing us,” said Acid Storm. “From what he has reported there has been little interest caused by the garbage dump incident of yesterorn, since Dirge’s trine was appropriately thorough. My trine and I discovered no better base location this orn, but we will keep looking, and I believe that at least for now we should stay here in South America if not Peru. The joors which separate us from the _Ark_ and the _Nemesis_ could make all the difference in our survival, although gaining intelligence on our enemies’ movements may prove harder. It is not as if the Decepticons are bathing in fuel - at least the Autobots were lucrative targets, energon-wise.”

Starscream mentally beat his vocalizer back into functioning, “They are only our foes if they attack first, I will not have us fighting two enemy factions if we do not have to. We need to minimize casualties.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” drawled Slipstream, sauntering in as if she were some rich heiress - which, once, she had been. “What happened to your attitude at the beginning of the war, _Winglord?”_

“The Winglord has done what he has had to for survival, as we have all done,” growled Acid Storm. “Things were different then, Slipstream.

“That’s _Lord_ Slipstream to you, General Acid Storm,” snapped Slipstream.

“Barely,” snorted Hotlink, shoving into the cave behind her, reeking of ozone in the same way as Acid Storm, a sign that he had been flying.

“Hotlink, how dare -” hissed Slipstream.

“The only royalty I recognize from the old regime is the trine laying there in creator state,” snapped Hotlink, flaring his wings at her. “You’re what, a fourth cousin? Maybe third? I’m loyal to the Winglord that got us through this slagging war, not the one that made me and Bit have to hide Sunstorm, and who woulda killed TC and Warp.”

“Any noble has the right to challenge the Winglord if he is found to be unfit to rule,” hissed Slipstream.

“How is he unfit? He’s sparked,” huffed Hotlink. “You touch him or his trine and I will strip your plating.”

“Winglords can only have sire-coding!” snarled Slipstream.

“I don’t think so, Slipstream,” growled Hotlink. “He was legally recognized at the end of the old regime -”

“Only because idiots were desperate!” squawked Slipstream. “He’s a nightmare -”

“- and I reckon that it’s entirely because of the Winglord’s carrier-coding that we’re all still alive,” snapped Hotlink. “He’s not perfect, but he’s fought against Buckethelm’s dumber plans which has saved our plating, and ‘cus of our current circumstances, next time Sunstorm’s in heat which’ll be when we’re safe at home in Vos, my trine gets to create our own litter of seekerlings. Now frag off - our Winglord looks too tired to deal with your slag. Nobody wants you as leader, Slipstream.”

Slipstream shot Starscream an awful look and stalked off in a huff, her trine sighing apologetically before padding after her. Acid Storm’s trine settled close by, Ion Storm grimacing for some reason as his trine leader handed him a cube as if its contents repulsed him. Nova Storm, taking his much more gracefully, smiled at Starscream, inquiring, “How are you feeling, sir? Are you doing okay?”

Starscream had not survived thousands upon thousands of centravorns of warfare not to turn suspicious when his troops turned their olfactory sensors up at something. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Ion Storm drink from his cube with tiny, measured, clearly revolted sips and looking around, he shifted slightly as he saw an exhausted looking Bitstream stroll in with Sunstorm, rather blatantly making a similar face as Ion Storm to his ration. Sniffing, he realized that he smelled not the sweet, wholesome scent of energon, but the burning, cough-inducing twang of petroleum - and not even what passed for good petroleum either. Wondering, he turned his helm to Skywarp’s and drew in a sniff of his trinemate, but Skywarp (who took adoring advantage of his attention to nuzzle him,) smelled fine.

“Sir?” asked Nova Storm, Starscream noting how Hotlink swatted Bitstream for making faces, flicking his wings in a demand for obedience which Bitstream rolled his optics at.

“Why are you drinking petroleum? I thought that we had energon,” said Starscream, glad to evade the touchy-feely query. It was annoying enough that Hotlink believed that because he was carrying he somehow needed protection, and from Slipstream of all femmes.

Nova Storm threw Acid Storm a helpless look, as if the answer to this should have been obvious and he had no idea what to say.

“Winglord, you’re_ carrying,”_ said Nova Storm when his trineleader was useless, as if this somehow explained everything.

“So?” demanded Starscream.

“So the petroleum was making you sick, sir! You need the energon more than any of us, and until you are through your current stage of carrying, your trine needs it too!” strained Nova Storm. “Carrier mecha need good fuel - and we may not _have_ good fuel technically, but we will give you the very best that we have! Your little ones need the most superior start possible and I believe that the medics of our late civilization would be appalled to know that you drank any petroleum at all while carrying!”

_ Star… maybe think of it as you being weaned back onto special treatment ‘cus you’re the Winglord rather than because you’re sparked if it bothers you,_ said Thundercracker, squeezing his hand.

Starscream did like special treatment - how much had he mourned the posh existence of his sparklinghood during the scrappier tracts of the war?

“All of our remaining energon has been given to Thundercracker to ration through your trine,” said Acid Storm firmly. Starscream balked at the idea that they were getting energon because of their newsparks instead of him being Winglord but he could not complain since he was getting energon. Conversation tapered off as the individual trines stuck to themselves, except for Sunstorm who saw fit to loudly bless Primus for Starscream’s wellbeing. Starscream stayed snuggled between his trinemates, daring to contemplate his failed abortion that morning and exactly how strong his apparent bond with his unborn offspring already was without his consciously knowing about it.

The little fraggers were messing with him in more ways than he had thought.


	22. Tanzing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Starscream receives some fresh incentive to get the Pit out of Vos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking a while to upload again and thank you again for the comments! I should be able to get more than one chapter up today to make up for the lack.

“…spark resonance forms the basis for trining, and apart from our supreme mastery of the sky, it is what truly seperates us from other frame types,” Cooldawn was declaring passionately. “Grounders do not experience spark resonance; when they bond, or ‘conjunx’ a partner, they may do it with whomever or truly whatever they please. There is a spark bond, but it does not carry the tremendous depth of a trinebond, and conjunx bondings can be annulled, whereas trinebonds are forever, broken only by death. To lose one’s trinemates can be traumatizing to the point of losing one’s own life, and it is only with tremendous will that a seeker may overcome such horror, such as our esteemed Lord Daggerpoint has done.”

Cooldawn pressed a servo to his chest, “Trining is paramount - a seeker cannot survive for longer than a centravorn without a trine. You, yourselves, are now two decavorns old - you must find your trine in approximately eight decavorns or your spark will destabilize. Seeker sparks require trine to live - it is only with the stabilization of two other sparks that we are whole, and it is only with mating that we become truly _trine_. It is not something which I can describe, but it is beautiful, and fear not, young ones - as noble carrier-seekers, your trinings will doubtlessly be arranged. Even now, I am sure, your elders are surveying records for appropriate mecha whose sparks will resonate with yours - your spark will not resonate with every seeker you meet, and of course, only a seeker spark will do.”

“Somewhere out there your trinemates are dreaming of you; with only one third of seekers sparked possessing your coding, you are the rare and fortunate, the honoured of Primus. Often sire-coded mecha will trine, then search together dedicatedly for their carrier-mate - for you to be trined to such a pairing would be the greatest honour. Imagine: one instance you are alone, then suddenly, no longer. Your trinemates will adore you and when you feel your spark resonate for the first time with theirs - Primus, there is no better feeling,” sighed Cooldawn dramatically. “You will happily bear their newsparks who will be the product of your love together.”

“Awww!” sighed Freshnote worshipfully. “That’s so beautiful, Cooldawn.”

“Perhaps even tonight you may meet perspective trinemates,” said Cooldawn, happy whenever Starscream and Cloudbreak weren’t making jibes. Starscream was too busy working on his entrance application to the University of Kaon to bother interrupting and beside him, Cloudbreak looked half in recharge, bored out of his processor. Cooldawn beamed, “I’ve been told that you are all invited?”

“Yeah, the Winglord herself sent us our invites!” squealed Songflight. “It’s in honour of Princes Starscream and Strut, but my carrier said that it is to be a big deal for all untrined adults! I can’t wait!”

“It’s called a launch ball, Songflight,” grunted Cloudbreak.

“Cloudbreak, are you excited about seeing Prince Strut?” chirped Freshnote as Starscream hit the SEND button on his application and commenced eying all of the university’s scholarships. He’d need one, unfortunately, since despite being royal he didn’t have much actual shanix to his name - he had never actually ever needed any. He was glad that he had devoted so much time to learning other languages - he would have been lost without it, seeing as Vos seemed to be the only country which spoke Vosian.

“I guess so, it’ll be fun I suppose, to see him look all fine,” said Cloudbreak, “and I guess I might feel the spark thing, documents say we’ll resonate, but who knows.”

“Oh, I bet it’ll be romantic,” sighed Freshnote as Cooldawn beamed. “Star, are you excited? I bet you’re going to look amazing.”

“Probably going to look exactly as I am now seeing as I am not going,” grunted Starscream distractedly.

“What?!” squeaked Songflight in disbelief. “But Starscream - it’s your ball! You’re one of the guests of honour, the Winglord is throwing it for you -”

“Sure, to show me off like hot merchandise,” sneered Starscream, noting the time and standing up. “I’m not going. I’m not obligated to please mecha who stopped caring about me as soon as I upgraded. Have fun with Strut, Cloudbreak, and say hi to him for me - I’m going back to my room now, seeing as it’s that magical time of orn when I am allowed to leave. Enjoy the dumb ball.”

There were more outraged gasps, even Cloudbreak seeming stunned, but Starscream was unrepentant as he left the classroom, taking care to escape through the high security guard checkpoint which his classmates couldn’t follow him through. He had known about his launch ball since he had been old enough to understand such things and although he had once been wildly excited about a party which was all about him, that had been before his upgrades. Now, with him being carrier-coded, he couldn’t stand the thought of being flirted with by mecha who did not actually like him and stared at him like he was a pile of new-minted shanix. It would have been his first chance to visit with Strut since their seperation upon being upgraded, but that couldn’t be helped now. It was probably better if he managed to get out of Vos without seeing the only seeker he still cared for apart from Courageflight anyway - his cousin, whom he hadn’t seen either since his upgrades, had apparently abandoned him just like Killjoy had.

He stepped into his suite, locked the door, and sat on the lonely berth which he had once shared with his brother, which felt terribly cold without him snuggled beside him. He missed Strut and he knew that unlike everyone else his brother was likely actually genuinely busy - it wasn’t Strut’s fault at all that they hadn’t seen each other. Starscream ex-vented sorrowfully and continued scrolling, scowling at all the scholarships which were marked ‘FLIGHTFRAME EXEMPT.’

“Fraggers,” huffed Starscream. “You’d think a slag pit like Kaon would be more open minded…”

His door beeped, signalling that someone was requesting entrance but he paid it no heed - only his creators had the override, after all, and he hadn’t seen any of them in orns, not since the awful incident with Yellowstreak. His carrier had sent him a few notes asking him to attend her but he had trashed them without really reading them, his entire focus on getting the Pit out of Vos. The door went quiet and he smiled unpleasantly, content that he was being left alone; it was probably just Nightglow anyway, wanting to harp at him for what he had said in Cooldawn’s class. 

The door beeped again suddenly, this time in a fashion which warned that the override had been implemented and Starscream hastily subspaced his datapad in surprise, glaring as Killjoy stepped through then frowned back at him.

“Go away,” demanded Starscream before his sire could gain any delusions about being welcome there.

“Starscream, why is your polish in such disarray? You have _scuffs,”_ criticized Killjoy in greeting, ignoring Starscream’s demand and striding over. Starscream hissed and attempted to make an escape over the back of his berth - he knew that he had scuffs, he had been refusing to attend them out of spite. If he looked like slag then he wouldn’t look like trining material and the Winglord wouldn’t want to have him at the ball.

But it was morning, and there was plenty of time to fix said scuffs.

“I don’t care, frag off,” Starscream tried to snarl, but it came out as a squeak as his sire strode around his berth then cornered him against his desk. “I’m not going to the stupid ball, it would have been fun back when I thought I was going to amount to something but now mecha are just going to be staring at me like I’m their next frag toy and excuse me if I don’t want that -”

“Starscream, nobody is going to look at you that way,” ex-vented Killjoy rather tiredly. “The ball is in your honour; it would be a tremendous slight if you weren’t there.”

“The slight is intentional! I’m not going to be part of this flock much longer, so why celebrate?” hissed Starscream, attempting to escape. “You’re gonna sell me to some horrible rich old fragger whose previous carrier-mate’s gone -”

“Well, they will be rich,” admitted Killjoy as he casually pinned Starscream against his own berth, “but Star, this is just to celebrate your milestone of becoming an adult, and while it certainly will attract trining interest for you, we won’t be considering any courtship requests this orn. A lot of the nobles who are coming have never seen you before and we want to show you off - Primus knows that Strut isn’t much of a vision - don’t you dare tell him or your other creators that I said that…”

“No! Don’t touch me, fragger!” squeaked Starscream as his sire picked him up like an oversized turbofox. “Stop! Where the frag are you taking me? Unhand me!”

“You’re in bad need of socialization so I’m taking you to my quarters where you’re going to spend the orn with Comet and I; I’m afraid that your other sire is working,” grunted Killjoy, annoyingly unhampered by Starscream’s weight. “Why have you been ignoring Comet’s invites? She’s been very worried about you.”

“Then why doesn’t she come?” hissed Starscream. “She’s the only one of you which gives a damn anymore!”

“Because she’s having a difficult period in her carry, which is why I am home this orn to attend her, and good thing too, considering your state,” said Killjoy, remotely triggering the door open. “Now, please stop shrieking while we’re in the hallway, you can swear at me as much as you like once we’re with your carrier - Lord Goldtrace is looking after most of your little siblings at the moment and the youngest are recharging, so it’s just us.”

Starscream contemplated screaming anyway to upset the guards but he had been taught too well to be quiet in the hallways unless there was something actually wrong with him. He did growl, trying to protest more acceptably being lugged to his creators’ apartment, but Killjoy didn’t let go, and a moment later they were there, Killjoy calling, “Comet, I have him, and he’s made me quite worried about what the frag Cooldawn has been teaching him.”

“Cooldawn reported that he’s been disruptive,” said Comet worriedly and Starscream craned his helm to look at her as Killjoy carried him into the berthroom, where Comet lay in her nest, a massive berth on the floor bordered by pillows, heaped with blankets. She looked tired, but she perked her wings up in greeting as she saw Starscream, giving him a glimpse of not only her gravid tummy, but the snuggled forms of his youngest seekerling siblings, the puny trio heaped together in a twitching pile which Starscream adamantly refused to admit was cute. Comet lay on her side, to better facilitate covering both middle and latest litter with her wing and she looked extremely concerned as Killjoy carefully set him in the nest beside her. Bizarrely calmed by being in the place where he had been born and spent his infancy, Starsceam didn’t immediately try to get up.

“Star, why is your polish off?” asked Comet worriedly. “You’re usually so immaculate, we never have to worry about you like Strut.”

“He claims he’s not attending his own ball, which is slag,” said Killjoy, pinning Starscream in the nest and stroking his wing. Starscream resisted thoughts about how much he had missed physical contact and growled again. “I’m going to clean him up, Comet, don’t worry, I’ll see that he looks his resplendent self again.”

“Star, why wouldn’t you want to go? This is so sudden; before you were excited -” said Comet.

“Before I had prospects in life,” hissed Starscream. “Now I am going to be sold to some rusty old fragger with a hole in his trine and I’m never going to amount to anything. I don’t want to celebrate that! Why would I want to celebrate my life being _over?_ I’m not becoming some rust bucket trine’s frag toy and I am not going to this ball! Now am I never trining!”

“Starscream, trining isn’t like that,” said Comet, recoiling in shock, tears forming in her optics. “Oh sweetling, why would you think that? Your trine are going to be the most important mecha in your life -”

“They can stay out of my life,” hissed Starscream. “I _don’t_ want them! I’m not going to spend my entire existence getting sparked by them like sires do to you!”

Comet gaped at him, “Star, sweetling, we create because we love each other -”

“That’s enough stressing your carrier, Starscream, let’s calm down in the washrack, shall we?” interjected Killjoy, strong arming Starscream to his pedes then leading him out of the nest. “Comet, calm down, Star _is_ going to trine and we will see grandcreations out of him - no, no arguing, Star. Here, calm down.” Having successfully trapped Starscream in the washrack with him, he turned on the shower and herded him under the soothingly warm spray. Unable to refute his love of being clean in the washrack, Starscream spread his wings appreciatively then hissed as he tried to fend off his sire’s hygienic assault with a sponge.

“Stop fussing, sweetspark,” ordered Killjoy gruffly. “I am sorry that I haven’t been around and that you took my absence when you onlined as a slight.”

“It was a slight, fragger,” growled Starscream, attempting to fend off his servos.

“To both of us, perhaps,” grimaced Killjoy. “Stop that. In any case I _am_ disappointed, especially because so far exactly none of your siblings have shown even half of your intelligence or speed. They’re all very… average. But it is what it is and perhaps one of your creations will do what you are unable to with your coding - I’m a patient seeker, I can wait.”

“My coding shouldn’t change things,” growled Starscream.

“And yet it does,” said Killjoy and hearing the regret in his sire’s voice, Starscream stared at him suspiciously before slowly deciding that it was genuine. Feeling tired, he finally cooperated with his sire, letting himself be groomed and he was quiet when Killjoy polished him, a tiny, traitorous part of his processor wondering if perhaps his Vosian future as a carrier would not be so bad. He stamped on this idiocy swiftly, but he was amiable as Killjoy led him back to the nest then urged him to lay down, claiming that he was looking tired. 

He expected Killjoy to leave or curl up with Comet or work at his desk but his sire laid down with him instead, hugging him tight, sighing, “I’m going to find you the best trineleader that I can, Star, I won’t let you be trined with idiots or anyone who would use you as a ‘frag toy’ as you so crassly claimed. You will have someone worthy of your calibre, someone of great class who deserves to be graced with your presence. You’re not some common seeker to be passed off to just anyone.”

Had Starscream wanted to be a carrier, he was sure that he would have found this reassuring, but instead, all he could think of was the long tract of nothing which his life was surely going to be if he followed Killjoy’s prescribed path. Chasing after needy, noisy little scraplets like Yellowstreak couldn’t be what he was meant for - Starscream knew that better things awaited him outside of Vos. He just had to discover where.

* * *

“STARSCREAM! Star, I missed you so much!” squealed Strut, rushing up to Starscream like a freight train and seizing him then twirling him around before anyone could stop him. Before Starscream could get his gyros back under control his brother was crushing him in a hug and bawling, “I am _so_ sorry, Star! I know I kinda joked about it before but it definitely wasn’t something to joke about and _Primus,_ mech, if anyone ever so much as looks at you weird I am going to destroy them, I love you so much -”

“Strut, please, put him down, you are going to ruin his polish,” hissed Killjoy.

“I’m so so _soooo_ happy to see you,” whined Strut, reluctantly putting Starscream back on his pedes, albeit without releasing him. They stood in the hallway directly outside the royal entrance to the ballroom, a place full of lurking servants waiting to help and ever-watching guards. “How have you been? I’ve been having a wondrous time, the guards are so nice and they threw a welcome party for me, cousin Sunfire is awesome! I got to drink engex!”

“You don’t want to ask Starscream how he’s been,” snapped Killjoy. “Put him on your arm and mind your decorum, Strut, no more messing around!”

Strut’s smile fell slightly, but he was intelligent enough to wait until Killjoy and Missilefire had escorted their carrier away to say anything more. The instance their creators were gone he hugged Starscream again, this time much more gently, whispering, “It’s been awful, hasn’t it? I’m so sorry, Star.”

“I don’t want to think about it, Strut,” whispered Starscream angrily. “My life is _over_ and I am never trining, I don’t care what any of these fraggers think.”

“Star - you have to trine or you’ll die; I know, you’re just saying that because -” spluttered Strut.

“I am _not_ trining! I am going to be the one carrier-coded seeker who said _no,_ who didn’t give up their dreams to do what a foolish society wanted of them!” hissed Starscream, swatting Strut’s servo away as he tried to tuck his hand on his arm. “No! We’re going in side by side or not at all! I didn’t even want to come tonight, I only came to see you, and since I _have_ seen you I feel perfectly justified in leaving!”

“Starscream, please, you have to go in on my arm, you -” implored Strut worriedly. Starscream started walking briskly away - there was still time for entrance letters and applications that night. Heavy pedes ran up behind him and his brother hugged him again, “Come on, please, let’s just go? Please don’t ruin this night, we’ve been dreaming about it our entire lives.”

“I stopped caring the klik that I onlined with the wrong coding, just like the rest of our flock,” growled Starscream resistantly, ignoring the staring servants.

“Star,” whined Strut. “Please - can’t you at least do it for me?”

“No,” hissed Starscream.

“Star!” implored Strut. “Please, it won’t be the same without you and Aunt Quick’ll be sad.”

“I doubt it, she already has plans to trine me off,” snapped Starscream.

“What? No way! We’re supposed to get a few vorns before that happens -” spluttered Strut, aghast.

Starscream scowled, “You’re one to talk, haven’t you already been betrothed?”

“What?!” Strut looked so confused that Starscream suddenly wondered whether Cloudbreak had been telling the truth.

“Never mind. Fine, let’s go to your ball thing,” grumbled Starscream, relenting, but only because he wanted to see Cloudbreak’s reaction to his brother.

“You - you’re not serious? I don’t know _anything_ about that -”

“Evidently,” grimaced Starscream.

“Prince Strut, Prince Starscream, are you ever going to proceed to the ball?” snapped the major domo impatiently.

“Yeah, sorry,” sighed Strut, reaching for Starscream’s servo again.

Starscream swatted it off again, “Side by side, Strut, or not at all!”

“Can’t we hold servos like when we were little?” whined Strut. “Please.”

Judging the amount of pathetic on his brother’s beloved face, Starscream relented, and held hands with him like they were fragging sparklings, then absolutely relished the aghast look which the major domo cast them as they proceeded to the entrance. The herald looked horrified, but at Starscream’s glare he declared to the room beyond, “Presenting the guests of honour, Winglord Mercury’s eldest nephews, Prince Starscream and Prince Strut, newly upgraded adults!”

Starscream savoured the glares all of his pompous, grotesque kin seekers shot him as he triumphantly entered the room with his adorably oblivious brother, sans decorum. They hovered down to the floor on their thrusters, then walked across it to the Winglord on her throne, whose only sign of internal struggle was the bit of plating beneath her optic which was jumping. They marched up, kowtowed and saluted with their wings, Strut grinning wide as the Winglord stood and helped them back to their pedes. Lens flares were flashing as she favoured them both with platonic kisses, something reserved entirely only for close kin. The flashes didn’t slow as she passed them to her trinemates and when they were returned to her side she made Starscream hold onto her arm, showing very clearly to everyone in the room what his coding was.

Strut didn’t notice, too busy grinning like an idiot but Starscream clenched his denta behind his fake smile. Everyone in the flock seemed happy with this though, and Killjoy stepped up to accept a kiss from his regal sister as she said a speech about how proud the Royal Family was of its two very promising young adults. Starscream sarcastically imagined her asking for bids on his trining but all of her words were about kin, how close the Royal Family was and how much its young ones mattered to her especially, the Winglord.

“…young Prince Strut has already joined the Royal Guard and We expect him to give many centravorns of his spark to the protection of Our glorious nation,” Winglord Mercury was saying regally. “We are so proud of him, and We know that he will do wonderfully for Vos.”

This was it, Starscream knew - this was when she declared open season on him for the courtiers.

“As for our lovely Prince Starscream, with his tremendous intelligence and speed which rivals even his royal sire’s, he will be trined with the highest calibre seekers which can be found in the hope that he may carry Vos’ next great commander or genius. As he is born of an exceptional carrier himself in Lord Comet, he will be an excellent carrier to his future litters and any seeker born from him will surely be of outstanding attributes,” declared Winglord Mercury. “He has everything which a trineleader could want in their carrier-mate - beauty, intelligence and swift grace.”

_ Just try it, fraggers,_ Starscream silently dared the watching crowd, desperately trying to keep his vents from hitching in pain as his aunt talked about him exactly as he had dreaded, like he was a fancy cybercat for sale.

“We are excited to see what the future holds for these two, and we gladly welcome them back into the family as legal adults,” concluded Winglord Mercury, then she annoyed Starscream by kissing them again. Finally she let go of them; they bowed to her, saluting with their wings once more, then Starscream endured being snatched into a hug by his happily sobbing carrier which he found quite impossible to escape. Strut was allowed to stand on his own, but for some reason their carrier refused to detach herself from Starscream and Starscream became abominably aware that his carrier was not alone as he was pressed against her person, close enough to feel a second electromagnetic field radiating from within her cockpit.

Recoiling, he stared at it and his carrier misinterpreted his look, giggling out a whisper, “Yellowstreak’s here with me, Star - Cascade and Ringflight are with your sires. We couldn’t leave them alone so they get to be here with us on your big orn!”

This explained why Comet had had bizarrely few inhibitions about leaving her nest for the ball; Starscream wondered how he had missed his creators sticking his squeaky infant seekerling siblings in their cockpits considering that he had spent the entire orn with them. He peered at his carrier’s cockpit despite himself and found that he could just somewhat make out the curled up form of Yellowstreak through the glass, the little seeker apparently contentedly recharging yet again.

“Is he ever fragging online?” muttered Starscream.

“Starscream, language!” protested Comet. “And of course he spends time online, but he’s _so_ young that he can’t stay up for more than a few joors an orn. He was playing with his littermates just before Killjoy brought you this morning.”

Starscream grimaced; his littlest siblings were too young to even be schooled, yet his sires had sparked his carrier yet again. It was more incentive to get his tail out of Vos as fast as possible.

“I miss when you were this young,” sighed Comet longingly, rubbing her cockpit glass as if to soothe the oblivious seekerling curled up beneath it, “although I never got to have you in my cockpit except when you were very tiny because Killjoy was so taken with you.”

Wishing for an escape, Starscream was gratified as Courageflight abruptly cut into their midst, beseeching, “Aunt Comet, do you mind if I steal Strut and Star? I need to introduce them to mecha.”

Comet’s expression implied that Courageflight was stealing Starscream from her forever, “Oh… I was sort of hoping -”

_ “Important_ mecha,” elaborated Courageflight, and without really asking more permission than that he snatched Starscream away from Comet, grabbing Strut by the wingtip. Missilefire growled a protest and Killjoy ex-vented but Courageflight didn’t listen, Starscream feeling distinctly rescued as he was pulled over to the treat table which lower ranked noble seekers immediately edged away from in respect. Courageflight let go of Starscream and Strut, declaring, “You’re welcome; also now Stardust owes me thirty shanix, I knew your carrier was going to get crazy like that.”

“I don’t think we needed rescuing, Courage -” protested Strut.

“Thank you, Courageflight!” interjected Starscream hastily. “I thought our carrier was going to keep me all night.”

“Oh, probably,” agreed Courageflight. His face fell, his wingtips drooping and he stepped close, whispering, “Starscream - I’m really sorry for how you’re being treated by our elders and I promise that if I can make it happen, I will change things. You deserve to be able to choose your own flight path - a line of reproductive coding shouldn’t have sway over what you want to do with your own life. In fact, I’m determined… but I’m afraid it’s going to take a long while - it’ll be centravorns before my sire abdicates the throne to me, and I’m ready for it. By that time… I’m afraid you’ll be trined, but hopefully they’ll be good mecha.”

Starscream gazed at his cousin in surprise, feeling like some of the painful grip around his spark loosened a little at the thought that someone he cared about actually_ understood._ He ex-vented, “Thanks, Courage.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” grimaced Courageflight, “and I’m sorry that I haven’t been around, my sire’s filled up my schedule to the brim. I have a joor free next decacoarn though, and I want to spend it flying with you - then you can tell me everything.”

“I look forwards to it,” said Starscream earnestly, “nobody’s let me fly since I was a mechling still.”

“What?!” hissed Strut, Courageflight looking just as aghast but swiftly schooling himself as one of Vos’ most powerful generals, Swiftbreeze, strode over.

“I thought I saw a hubboo over here,” she said imperiously, her optics sharp as she eyed them over. “What are you three miscreants up to?”

Courageflight looked insulted, his handsome wings flicking, “Lord General Swiftbreeze, I have only just rescued Prince Starscream from the clutches of Lord Comet and pulled Prince Strut along, there is hardly anything nefarious in that. We firstborn royal seekers need to stick together, you know.”

“I’m second born,” mumbled Strut uselessly.

“I doubt that Prince Star needed rescuing from his own carrier,” said the lord general. She glanced dismissively at Strut, then eyed Starscream, “You’re looking pristine, Prince Star, although I notice that you have yet to update your livery.”

Starscream flushed angrily - he had been actively avoiding making any mention of the fact that his flock insignia marking was still an uncoded mechling’s rank.

“I will of course be reminding your sire, Killjoy,” decided Lord General Swiftbreeze primly. “A carrier must be marked as one - how else will the guards know to keep him home?”

“I will _not_ be herded back into Royal Airspace like some -” hissed Starscream.

“I’m sure that it’s already on Prince Killjoy’s to-do list, Swifty,” interjected Courageflight hurriedly. “He’s such a methodical mech, after all! Come along, Star, Strut! Let’s go see, uh, Slater! Yeah!”

“It should be his creators’ job to introduce him to society, Courageflight,” hissed Lord General Swiftbreeze.

“And yet my sire already did a spiffing job of that, didn’t she?” said Courageflight and Starscream gloomily grabbed himself an oil cake as his cousin shunted them swiftly away. Unfortunately, this seemed to attract attention and he could not help but hide himself between Courageflight and Strut’s larger forms as he saw interested optics locking onto him. Disturbing smiles and whispers followed them as they moved, Starscream feeling like he was under intense scrutiny as Courageflight led them to where the dark grey, swarthy seeker mech known as General Slater was eying everyone in his proximity as if he suspected them of plots against the Vosian Crown - which, as Vos’ spymaster, he probably did.

“Hello, Slater,” greeted Courageflight in a tone suggesting that they had reached a vale of safety. The mech looked at them sharply for a moment, making Starscream ponder briefly whether he knew about his online activities, then he fluttered his wings in a friendly way which made nearby mecha stare at him as if he had abruptly grown an extra helm.

Starscream knew why - Slater was known for decisively acting upon his suspicions and as a result, most mecha feared him.

“My dear Crown Prince Courageflight - you’ve brought me Prince Strut and my favourite brilliant Star,” purred Slater. Starscream would have been annoyed by this, but Slater had always spoken to him in the same fashion and he did not sound any different now. Slater was not technically kin, but he felt like it in spark and Starscream had always felt safe around him - it probably helped that he had memories of sitting in Slater’s lap as a seekerling, listening to the mech tell him about how he managed Vos’ security, his datapad propped so that Starscream could see it as he worked on it, coordinating his forces across their nation as well as beyond. Flicking his wings in transparent pleasure, Slater spread his arms, and Starscream smirked at the looks on nearby seekers’ faces as he willingly hugged the most dangerous mech in Vos.

When Slater ended the hug, he smirked nearly as smugly as Starscream, and kept a companionable arm around his waist, sneering, “Should anyone here _think_ of taking advantage of you due to your coding, my Star, I believe they know what will happen.” His gaze softened and he looked at Starscream embarrassingly worriedly, “Are you doing alright? I know you’re disappointed.”

“I’m fine,” huffed Starscream, disgruntled to hear this slag from Slater.

“That’s a lie,” said Slater, “and I do hope that you’re having fun with that datapad which you stole from the Royal Library.”

“You did _what?!”_ squeaked Strut as Starscream’s innards recoiled, only for him to swiftly reassure himself - if Slater _did_ know about his university applications, then Starscream would have swiftly heard about it from Killjoy.

Slater favoured Strut with an exhausted look, “Please, Strut, don’t you know your own littermate? Your disagreeable sires took his study pads away and he’s been confined to quarters - personally I can’t blame him. A bright processor like his needs stimulation, isn’t that right, Starscream? Now, I have no idea you’ve been doing on the worldwide network - _yet_ \- Star, but as soon as the slagging Functionists stop being distracting, I’ll have a joor to break your encryption.”

Starscream attempted to muster some bravado, “You’ll be bored silly.”

“Undoubtedly, considering the last time I caught you doing it and broke your encryption you were reading up on chemistry slag,” sighed Slater. He kissed Starscream’s cheek and glared wolfishly around at the mecha staring at them. “Hmm, I daresay whoever trines you is going to have their servos especially full - I rather pity them.”

Starscream couldn’t help but smirk - at least somebody got him. His smirk faded as there was a gasping squeal and Slater looked hawkishly around at the idiotically unintimidated forms of Songflight and Freshnote.

“Prince Starscream, you came!” cooed Freshnote stupidly, as if by coming to his own party Starscream had made tremendous emotional progress somehow.

Slater hackled, his wings giving an angry twitch, and he tugged Starscream closer to his side as if wanting to protect the sanctity of his intelligence. “Obviously he came to his own ball, Lord Freshnote, the Winglord did quite loudly announce that a while ago.”

Slater’s sarcasm prevailed where Starscream’s had not yet: Freshnote and Songflight looked completely mortified.

“I will trust you to show a bit more respect to Prince Starscream, whether or not His Highness the Crown Prince is present or not,” snapped Slater. “Starscream remains fifth in line to the Crown of Vos as well, carrier-coding or not.”

Starscream had never seen mecha back away from a situation so fast or look so quelled. Slater gave a prim huff at Freshnote and Songflight’s retreat then returned to nuzzling him while simultaneously forcing a report of guard training out of a bumbling Strut. Strut, who had never been groomed for politics and matters of the nation like Starscream had, stuttered a bit at first, but Starscream listened interestedly as he told them all about his experiences thus far. Tucked against the menacing figure of Slater, Starscream actually began to enjoy himself a little, feeling comfortable because Slater had often snagged him in the same manner at past balls. With Slater actively leering at mecha, Starscream could study them without being studied back, yet even with Slater by his side, the lecherous glances he caught made him nervous. Mecha had never looked at him so before - and it was clear that they were thinking about him in exactly the fashion that Mercury’s speech had implied that they should.

“General Slater, you are monopolizing the Crown Prince and my creations,” growled Killjoy a full joor later, in which Slater’s presence had helped Starscream fully avoid any dancing or awkward conversations. Strut, still monologuing about his guard training, stumbled to a halt and stared wildly at their sire whom Slater only gazed lazily at, as if trying to decide whether he cared or not.

“You can have Strut back, Prince Killjoy,” decided Slater, “but I am keeping Star. Courageflight can do whatever he wants.”

“You are not keeping Starscream because there are mecha we need to introduce him to,” snapped Killjoy.

Slater wrapped his arm a bit tighter around Starscream’s middle, “I don’t _like_ the mecha you want to introduce him to. This seeker is _useful,_ he deserves only the _best,_ and the opportunity to _be_ the best.”

Killjoy flared his wings imperiously, “General, you will return my dependant creation to me.”

Slater made an irritated sound through his vents, “The only thing about him which makes him dependent is the fact that he is Royal. Were he in the city he’d be allowed a job.”

“My creation is above that common rabble,” hissed Killjoy.

“As I well know,” said Slater peskily. “Fine. You can have him back - but I am following.”

Killjoy looked like he wanted to demand why Slater didn’t have better things to do, but Starscream had observed that not even his royal sire liked being on the bad side of Slater. Thus, the intelligence officer escorted them back to the dais where the Winglord was impatiently waiting with her trine and the rest of Killjoy’s, as well as an extremely nervous looking Cloudbreak, who seemed to be standing with his creators.

“Courageflight, trust you to make off with our guests of honour,” huffed Winglord Mercury. “You will take a rest from your shenanigans now.” She inclined an imperious wing towards Courageflight’s long abandoned throne, his two sister littermates Stardust and Softclaw watching him curiously from their own where they were obediently perched. Courageflight favoured Starscream with a worried look before obeying and Starscream looked at Strut, who was staring at Cloudbreak as if terrified for his friend’s life, probably believing something terrible to be the reason for him being so close to the Winglord. 

“Prince Strut, come forwards,” ordered Winglord Mercury. Strut, somewhat hesitantly, went to her and knelt at her pedes; she leaned over, touching his dark helm. “You have been requested in trine, and We have agreed on the merits of the intended. Since your sparks resonate, you are henceforth engaged to trine Lord Cloudbreak, who will be your carrier-mate, and you will strengthen Our ties with his creation trine, particularly his dominant sire, my long time advisor Lord Duststorm.”

Starscream did a double take - never once had Cloudbreak ever mentioned that one of his sires was on the high council. Strut looked absolutely pole-axed, gaping at Winglord Mercury, who seemed to take pity on him, as she leaned forwards, slipping a hand over his shoulder to give him a reassuring scratch between the wings. “You will be fine, Strut, and you won’t trine Cloudbreak for several decavorns, so you will have time to court as well as get used to your adult self before chasing Cloudbreak into the sky.”

Strut seemed liable to cry and Starscream shifted at what he felt through their fading bond, then his wings flicked involuntarily as he watched Cloudbreak approach Strut at a gentle touch of encouragement from Lord Duststorm. Strut stiffened, all of his plating puffing out, and he almost mechanically looked around at Cloudbreak. Starscream immediately had the sense that something tremendously profound was happening as the two gaped at each other, Cloudbreak suddenly looking nearly as surprised as Strut, a strangled noise squeaking from Strut’s vents as they gazed upon each other in what seemed to weirdly be amazement.

“So beautiful,” sighed Comet tearily as Strut made a bizarre placating gesture with his wings which Starscream had _never_ seen him make before, but which he had seen his sires make during the incredibly rare occasions that Comet had been mad at them. In response Cloudbreak’s wings jerked and Starscream recoiled as he realized that Strut was scenting the air as if trying to smell the smaller mech.

He wanted to slap him, but he was too weirded out.

Cloudbreak seemed to struggle for a moment, then he peeped meekly, “Hi, Strut, remember me?”

“Y-ye-yeah,” gasped Strut, observing lamely, “y-you feel different, Cloudbreak.”

“W-we’re resonating,” concluded Cloudbreak, at which they stared gormlessly at each other for several more kliks, utterly flummoxed.

“Sweetsparks, why don’t you dance?” whispered Cloudbreak’s carrier kindly. “Go play on the dance floor.”

Strut stiffly offered Cloudbreak his arm which Cloudbreak snatched as if grabbing a life preserver, then they wandered away from the dais in a rather overcharged manner, despite the fact that Starscream doubted that either of them had touched a single drop of engex that night. Worst of all, Strut had seemingly forgotten Starscream’s existence and Starscream suddenly felt extremely naked without him, especially as he noticed Winglord Mercury watching him. Gulping, he tried to focus on how Comet was talking happily with Cloudbreak’s carrier, both of them apparently smitten with the match of their young, but he couldn’t help but note the way that General Slater was giving Mercury a suspicious eying, as if he thought that Mercury had something up her plating for Starscream too.  
Starscream attempted to watch Strut dance inarticulately with Cloudbreak, only to suddenly feel something _pull_ on his spark as pedes approached, someone striding straight through the line of guards which protected the dais. Burnished orange, deep reddish brown and black plating glinted handsomely under the ball’s lights and Starscream looked around with panic in his throat as a young mech whom he had seen thousands of times before, whom he had scoffed at because his sire scoffed at him, halted sharply, then looked at him. Dark faceplates much like his; smouldering optics of crimson and wings which - Starscream forced his gaze away. He didn’t like brown - he didn’t like orange - so what the _frag_ was wrong with him? 

Why the frag was his plating and wings quivering so hard, and why had he just - had he_ really?!_ \- just taken a step _closer_ to -

“General Tanzing, you will remove yourself from this dais!” hissed Slater, leaping between Starscream and Tanzing and flaring his wings in a full out threat display. Young General Tanzing - Tanzing, _Vos’ least promising general_ \- stunned, leapt back wildly, almost tripped on the stairs, and seemingly completely forgot about the Winglord in favour of gaping at Starscream one last time. Slater took a heavy step towards him and Tanzing bolted, only seeming to remember where the slag he was when he was past the guards, looking around in shock for the Winglord only to gape at Starscream again, whose spark was whirling so fast that he felt sick.

“Some incentive for you to do better, General Tanzing,” purred Winglord Mercury, standing and running a digit along the leading edge of Starscream’s wing, making him flick it, then look at her in outrage.

“No. No, I am _not trining_ him -” squawked Starscream.

“You will trine whoever I tell you to trine, Starscream; mind that you behave well, so that it is somebody whom you actually like,” said Winglord Mercury sharply, flicking his wing painfully where the media couldn’t see from behind.

_But he’s an idiot!_ squeaked the protest in his processor, but Starscream didn’t dare voice it aloud with Mercury’s threat, especially given how fast she’d had Strut engaged to Cloudbreak. Instead, he lowered his gaze, feeling shocked and sick, his spark still pulsing weirdly out of control, his optics still trying to hazard glances at the other seeker, whom he could see greeting his trinemate at the edge of the crowd, both of them turning to stare at him. Tanzing’s sire-mate - who was a boring, typical grey - seemed to lock onto Starscream just like Tanzing had, and Starscream turned away hard, shuddering as he heard Comet cooing, apparently endeared by his reaction. Other elders of his were chuckling too, infuriatingly seeming to find him cute, and the only mecha who seemed to understand remotely how he felt were Courageflight and Slater, Courageflight’s expression politely outraged, Slater’s decidedly less restrained.

“Winglord Mercury, you must find Starscream mecha better than that,” hissed Slater.

“We’ll see, Slater,” mused Winglord Mercury, “if he’s good.”


	23. The Rejecta-Trine Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream's carrying progresses, to the great discomfort of his trinemates and potentially Ramjet.

The sounds of exhausted mecha re-entering the _Ark_ onlined Skyfire and despite it being the middle of the night, he hurried out of his hab suite. Outside, mecha were dragging their pedes, some huffing tiredly through their vents, plating smeared with drying organic blood and line energon. None of them seemed particularly talkative, but Skyfire was too worried to care, and he headed straight for the medbay, where he immediately saw one of Ratchet’s regulars - Sideswipe. Stopping in his tracks, Skyfire frantically surveyed the frontliner, trying to see if there were any telltale marks of a seeker attack on the idiot - but Sideswipe bore no distinctive claw marks or the now familiar (since Ratchet had taught him,) marks of a null ray. The frontliner did look like he’d been punched a lot, which probably served him right (although Skyfire was wise enough not to admit so aloud,) but he otherwise seemed fine - just dented.

“Ratchet,” said Skyfire nervously.

“Not now, Skyfire,” barked Ratchet. “Help if you’re going to stay, otherwise get out.”

“Sideswipe, any seekers?” asked Skyfire instead, daring to move closer to the scarlet frontliner, who scowled at him in response to his question.

“No, not a single fragging one,” snapped Sideswipe resentfully and Skyfire was almost certain he caught a flicker of worry in the mech’s voice, which was odd. “Third battle now without any.”

Skyfire grimaced at Sideswipe’s desire to hurt and anxiety saw him setting to work helping Ratchet, grateful that his field medical training had made him useful enough to warrant being allowed to stay. Quickly Skyfire had other patients agreeing with Sideswipe - for the third time in a row, there had been no sign of any seeker, much less Starscream, although there had been another encounter with the nasty new enemy combiner who had done a number on Superion and Defensor until Sky Lynx had gotten involved.

Except for one incident with a low ranking Autobot grounder named Speedrunner, then an incident with the Aerialbots over Mexico, there had been no seeker encounters at all for nearly two decaorns, ever since Jazz had gleefully noted Starscream’s defection from the Nemesis. The newly sparked seeker had completely vanished, and the only reassurance Skyfire possessed was that other Decepticon seekers had been present in the skies when the Aerialbots had last seen him - in fact, Silverbolt had detailed a report of being attacked by them. Starscream’s trine had fled, which was unusual behaviour according to the Autobots when other seekers were present, and the Aerialbots had been forced to retreat by the pure aggression of the other seekers’ assault.

Finally, the last patient tottered out the medbay doors towards their hab suite and Skyfire looked around at Ratchet. “Ratchet, it’s going on too long, what if something’s happened?”

“This is nothing, Skyfire, Starscream has disappeared for vorns before, only to rear his ugly helm again,” snorted First Aid, who was unfortunately still present in the room, being a medic.

“He wasn’t _sparked_ back then on a planet with no jet grade!” snapped Skyfire worriedly. “Megatron can’t have killed him, could he? Isn’t there some way of checking the _Nemesis?”_

First Aid snorted, “Shuttle, it’s under several billion tons of water, there’s no getting anyone in there. Starscream’s probably been bridged back to Cybertron or something - or killed. He’s our enemy, and I count it as a successful experiment if all of his kind are gone.”

Skyfire’s protest that Starscream was a gravid carrier in need of dedicated medical care and protection died before it could reach his vocalizer. “Why would Megatron destroy all of his seekers though? I was given to believe that they were his primary advantage.”

“They are,” confirmed Ambulon. “Most of his army are just brutes - the seekers are refinement. Even the most badly trained seeker is a more devastating combatant than the majority of the grounders in the Decepticon army.”

“So where’s Starscream?” worried Skyfire.

“Skyfire, don’t stress over it, I’m sure Starscream’s fine,” said Ratchet, but he didn’t sound convinced. He patted Skyfire’s arm as he moved to leave the medbay, “Go back to berth, mech, stop straining your spark.”

“Ratchet, I need to fly,” said Skyfire anxiously. “I need to look for him -”

“They’ll shoot you out of the sky!” snapped First Aid. “Stop being crazy, Starscream is a Decepticon, he can take care of himself!”

“He’s never been sparked before!” cried Skyfire, losing his patience.

“That we _know!”_ retorted First Aid.

“No, Skyfire is correct, Starscream showed no physical signs of having ever been sparked by his trine previously,” said Ratchet, stopping beside the doors. He seemed to give Skyfire a glance over and sighed, “I’ll pester Jazz and Blaster to see if there’s been any seeker sightings on the human news. Maybe there’ll be something there.”

“Thank you, Ratchet,” said Skyfire, ex-venting in relief, “I’ll keep working on trying to synthesize jet grade -”

“Only after you’ve rested,” huffed Ratchet, “it won’t be any use to Starscream if it poisons him because the molecules are off. Berth!”

Skyfire hesitantly obeyed, but as with every night since he had seen the scan of Starscream’s spark accompanied by the tiny flickers of just-conceived seeker newsparks, it was a very long time before he managed any recharge.

* * *

Starscream was being particularly irritable, which meant that he was in pain, yet for some reason this didn’t translate the same way that it normally would have in Thundercracker’s processor - nor his sparked trinemate’s, either. Thundercracker tightened his restrictive grip around Starscream’s waist and draped his wings a bit more possessively around Starscream to hide him, the tricoloured seeker stamping a pede as Thundercracker succeeded in pushing his spike deeper into the Winglord’s valve. Feeling its tip tap home against the opening of his mate’s gestation tank, Thundercracker thrusted quicker, trying to drive them both closer to overload, to the sating of both of their instincts. Starscream’s plating was loose, the new carrier panting noisily as he leaned against Skywarp who had already had him that morning.

“Come on, Star, good job,” whispered Skywarp lovingly, scratching Starscream between his wings then moving his servo out of the way as Thundercracker nuzzled the back of their sparked trinemate’s neck in a bid to get more leverage. As tired as Starscream constantly was now, he was not being especially helpful, so Thundercracker sought to dominate him, trying to rile out a typical aggressive reaction which would help sate their instinctive need to mate. Instead of twisting with bared claws to educate him about who was the boss in their trine, which had been Starscream’s response to Thundercracker pulling slag with him for as long as he could remember, the new carrier only whimpered, and leaned slightly into him in a silent plea for more, _harder._

Thundercracker stopped being bossy; it wasn’t fun if his trineleader wasn’t attempting to flay him. He licked his mate’s nape, sending a pulse of apology through the bond and Starscream sent a vague, resigned sort of flicker informing Thundercracker that he needed to get on with it. Starscream clearly wasn’t enjoying their interface much anymore - it had gotten very repetitive what with them taking him every morning once the cave had cleared (sometimes twice,) and Thundercracker guessed that his trineleader was getting very close to rejecting their mating with him completely. He had no idea what was going to happen, how Starscream would tell them to stop, and he sort of hoped that one orn he’d just online without the raging libido which had been plaguing him, driving him to interface with Starscream as frequently as possible.

If it hadn’t been for the coding demanding that they mate, Thundercracker would have left Starscream alone - they had gone vorns without interface in the past, with just snuggling and grooming to affirm their bonds. If Starscream wasn’t into it, Thundercracker usually had Skywarp if he felt like he needed a lay, but ever since Starscream had been sparked neither he nor Skywarp had been interested in each other that way. In fact, Thundercracker was barely into the interface himself, feeling distinctly drained, which Acid Storm had told him was from the strain of constantly creating so much richer-than-usual transfluid. His and Skywarp’s frames were giving everything they could while they could to the creation of their progeny, and Thundercracker felt distinctly unable to leave Starscream alone sexually. 

He groaned as he rutted, trying so hard to get his very hard spike to release, and at Starscream’s almost lyrical, pained screech he felt the dam burst, Skywarp grinning at him over Starscream’s helm as Thundercracker threw his own head back, wings flared as he strained to squeeze every last drop of his transfluid out, Starscream’s fluttering valve clamping ruthlessly around his jetting spike in response. They held like this for several kliks, then Thundercracker felt his spike soften, Starscream’s valve going slack around it, releasing its merciless hold. Huffing, he pulled out and slicked off the last drops of silvery transfluid from his spike, wiping it in Starscream’s valve with a digit while Skywarp carefully held Starscream upright, the carrier no longer driven to lick as he had before, in the earliest orns of his carrying. The Winglord was almost half asleep between them and Thundercracker helped Skywarp lower their trinemate back on top of his tarp. 

Reaching gently, Thundercracker touched the heated round of Starscream’s middle and met Skywarp’s gaze, tears beading in the other mech’s eyes as they both contemplated yet again the fact that they were doing something they had never believed that they ever would, that very soon (at least in their concept of time,) they would be the devoted protectors of the first seekerlings born in literal eons. Skywarp’s servo joined his and between them there was only love as they thought about their little ones growing within their mate. Thundercracker, abruptly noting that Starscream’s valve cover was still open, touched it to push it shut -

_Pain_ exploded in his arm, searing in telltale stripes across his plating as Starscream hissed at them as if he had never seen them in his life before, suddenly fully awake. Thundercracker was too stunned to move, which was unfortunate, because it meant that his offending servo was still far too close to Starscream’s crotch. He finally jerked it back, energon dotting the sand purple as Starscream whirled onto his pedes and Thundercracker was too shocked to warn Skywarp, who innocently tried to reach for Starscream, to reassure him. Apparently, this was far too much like being snagged for an interface because the next thing Thundercracker knew, Skywarp was yipping in pain too and Starscream was running away, a distinct adorable hitch in his gait from his gravid middle hindering his usually excessive speed.

“W-what the frag just happened, TC?!” whined Skywarp.

“I think we’re done mating,” grimaced Thundercracker, gripping his injured arm and trying to stop the free flow of energon from severed lines - Starscream had slashed him hard. Usually Starscream barely ever drew line energon when he swatted them, but apparently he had really meant business, because he’d cut them both as hard as Thundercracker had seen him claw up Autobots. 

“Couldn’t he have…?” whimpered Skywarp. He didn’t elaborate what would have been preferable, because he didn’t know and like Thundercracker, he wasn’t sure what it even could have been anyway.

“I don’t think so,” sighed Thundercracker, standing, “it’s coding. Come on, let’s go catch him, hopefully he hasn’t taken off and made a pest of himself.”

Skywarp helpfully teleported them outside, to where they found that Starscream was standing just beyond the cave entrance, staring at the sky, so clearly stressed out that Thundercracker’s spark ached just at the sight of him.

“Star -” started Skywarp, wanting to ask whether Starscream was okay, but thinking it better that Starscream stayed reasonably ignorant to their presence, Thundercracker covered his black trinemate’s mouth. Starscream noticed them anyway, triggering more hissing and the carrier trotting further away before halting, staring at the sky again, wings twitching. From the way he was looking around, and from what Thundercracker felt from the bond, it was like Starscream was looking for someone. This impression only got more poignantly tragic when Starscream trilled in a manner which Thundercracker had not heard since before Vos had fallen - it was the way that distressed seekerlings called for their creators.

“Primus, that’s sad,” whispered Hotlink, coming up beside him.

“What’s he doing?” asked Skywarp confusedly.

“He’s looking for his creation trine,” vented Bitstream, wrapping his arms around himself as if needing solace at the sight. “When carrier-seekers reject their mates they usually instinctively seek out their own creators, especially their carrier.”

“But… they’re dead,” whispered Skywarp.

“Exactly,” ex-vented Hotlink. He grimaced, “Bitstream, go get Sunstorm, I’m not sure how much help he’ll be since he hasn’t carried before either but he at least has the same coding and he’s not Ramjet.”

“What’s wrong with Ramjet?” demanded Thrust haughtily, coming to stand with them, his scowl abating as Starscream continued to trill pathetically.

“He’s probably the least comforting carrier-coded seeker I’ve ever met,” snorted Hotlink.

“So’s Starscream,” snorted Thrust.

“Star’s comforting!” protested Skywarp, insulted on Starscream’s behalf. “You’ve never snuggled with him, he’s awesome.”

“We never _want_ Thrust to snuggle with him either,” Thundercracker reminded Skywarp. “Sunstorm’s a good idea.”

“At least until Nova Storm or one of the other experienced carriers gets here,” grimaced Hotlink. “You might have to recharge outside or in a different part of the cave for a few nights until his current line of coding abates. He won’t tolerate you near him while he’s like this and we can’t afford him flying off, we’d never catch him.”

Thundercracker agreed that this was wise, but he had significant concerns that Sunstorm wouldn’t be much help if Starscream did decide to fly. Fortunately, Starscream was more interested in making their sparks ache by trilling for dead creators incapable of coming to comfort him than in flying. Just as Thundercracker realized how bad it would be if Starscream tired himself out doing this, Sunstorm returned from wherever he had been and approached, at which Starscream went silent, watching the other seeker. Apparently failing to see the other carrier-coded seeker as a threat, Starscream whimpered, at which Sunstorm (muttering what sounded like incessant blessings to Primus under his breath,) wrapped his arms around him. A few kliks later Thundercracker and Skywarp edged away from the entrance to watch in profound relief as Sunstorm coaxed Starscream back inside.

“I wouldn’t be so worried, but he’s not in his right processor right now,” said Skywarp, summing up Thundercracker’s own concerns. They followed the two carrier mecha into the cave deep enough to see them curling up together on the tarp, then they drew back, Skywarp sighing, “Does this mean we drink petroleum now?”

“Sure does,” smirked Bitstream before Thundercracker could answer. “Winglord doesn’t require your services anymore, so you’re back on the scrap diet!”

“Bitstream,” reproached Hotlink but Bitstream was unrepentant, and frankly, Thundercracker couldn’t blame him. It was probably a good thing that he and Skywarp were back on petroleum anyway - their seekers had not had luck retrieving any energon, and their supply was running out. With only Starscream drinking it, the low grade was bound to go a lot further, giving them more time to successfully play out a raid on Decepticon forces.

He resignedly walked back outside, tugging Skywarp with him - he was sure that Starscream would call when he wanted them back again, so they would enjoy some sunshine while they waited for his trill.

* * *

“Nova Storm, thank Primus that you’re back!” exclaimed Sunstorm, onlining Starscream as there were murmurs throughout the cave and the sound of pedes quickly approaching as if Nova Storm was in a hurry. “His Majesty rejected his trine this morning!”

“Finally, I thought that he was getting a bit late at it and I was beginning to worry,” ex-vented Nova Storm, sitting down beside Starscream without asking and pulling him half into his lap, Starscream infuriated by this treatment until the fragger started _petting_ him. For some reason this made the close contact okay instead of punishable by swiping (if not death,) and he stopped growling, a sound which he hadn’t even realized that he had been making.

“Poor Winglord was calling for his creation trine earlier,” said Sunstorm pityingly, embarrassing Starscream profoundly. _Why_ did Sunstorm see fit to pass on this humiliating little piece of news?

“Well, nobody ever said coding was intelligent,” snorted Nova Storm, working his claws under Starscream’s plating and apparently grooming him. Starscream stiffened, profoundly perplexed - he had not been groomed by anyone outside of his trine since he had been a resident of the Vosian Royal Palace, back when he had still had surviving kin. Grooming mecha outside of kin was usually a faux pas - had been a faux pas forever, especially within the Decepticon Army, but Starscream supposed that a lack of stupid grounders around making lame innuendos out of absolutely everything his seekers did was going to change things inevitably. Now, the only foreign mecha present to make judgement were Blitzwing and Astrotrain, and neither of them seemed to especially care what the seekers did so long as they didn’t inflict their culture too heavily on them.

The triple changers seemed to just be content to be part of the faction - Starscream wasn’t sure if their numbers truly warranted being called an army, with many of their seekers still scattered across the galaxy.

“I saw TC and Warp outside, poor sparks were looking properly mopey,” noted Nova Storm, pressing his claws deeper, Starscream groaning involuntarily as the yellow mech succeeded in loosening something which had been tight for longer than he could remember.

Ramjet snickered, “They’d just given him transfluid and he decided to fillet Thundercracker’s - excuse me, _Lord_ Thundercracker’s forearm.”

“Ramjet, why are you over there instead of over here helping?” demanded Nova Storm, pausing in his rather aggressive grooming.

“Because Hotlink and Lord Thundercracker said I didn’t have to,” said Ramjet smugly.

“Well, I’m vetoing that, it’s the responsibility of the group’s carrier mecha - _all of them_ \- to look after sparked seekers, especially when their trine can’t,” snapped Nova Storm. “Get your aft over here and pet him, he needs to be coddled or the stupid rejection coding isn’t going to abate.”

“I don’t think he wants pets from me,” grimaced Ramjet as Starscream managed somewhat to push through his coded daze and growl at him.

“Oh shhh, Winglord, you need all the pets,” crooned Nova Storm ridiculously to Sunstorm’s snickering. Nova Storm turned decidedly evil optics on Ramjet, “Get your aft over here you wonky-helmed freak, he’ll stop fussing once you start petting!”

Starscream wanted to doubt this and to protest this with all of his spark, but… he hadn’t been able to bring himself to argue against Sunstorm cooing all over him all orn either. The sane part of him sobbed that it was demeaning - the coded part didn’t give a slag and wanted pampering, slaggit - pampering which the other carrier-coded idiots (minus Ramjet, apparently,) seemed more than happy to provide.

Ramjet fidgeted intensely for a klik, then he burst free of Thrust and Dirge, squeaking, “Gotta petta Screamer bye!”

“What?” lazed Dirge.

“Oh, Ramjet’s finally given in to his weird desire to pet cranky seekers,” grumbled Thrust. “Go back to recharge.”

“Oh,” sighed Dirge, and to Starcream’s disbelief, he did. Even more bizarre, Ramjet actually did pet him, shuddering as if he had been withholding something.

“I knew you were pretending not to want to, Ramjet,” giggled Sunstorm.

“Stuff it, Sunstorm,” huffed Ramjet, stroking dutifully at Starscream’s wing. “That’s not important at all, we’re still in a war.”

“Nobody’s forgotten that, we’re just free to be seekers properly in between fighting now because Primus has blessed us,” said Sunstorm snootily. He abruptly violated Starscream by hugging him again, “And being seekers properly again means loving on our sparked Winglord!”

Ramjet, to his credit, looked disgusted. So did Nova Storm.

“Uh, Sunstorm, he’s still our commander; he’s still a vicious combatant even if his processor and gestation tank is full of newsparks,” said Nova Storm. 

Sunstorm made an obnoxious sound which Starscream took a klik to process, because he hadn’t heard its like since he had been a lowly prince in the palace being forced to attend Cooldawn’s stupid carrier classes with Freshnote and Songflight. It was a giggle - not the manic, somewhat demented variety which he had long become accustomed to (particularly from Skywarp when he was up to something, which was nearly always,) but a _giggle_ \- the gossipy kind. Hotlink and Bitstream apparently thought it was weird too because they both stared at Sunstorm as if he had abruptly renounced Primus forever. Seeing that he had everyone’s (bewildered) attention, Sunstorm smirked, “The little princes won’t know their carrier’s a big bad Winglord. They’ll just know him as Carrier.”

Starscream wanted to vomit, and almost proceeded to.

“He’s… right, actually,” said Blitzwing slowly and rather profoundly. “These little mecha… they’re not going to know about the war, or anything we’ve been through, will they? All they’re gonna know is the underside of Screamer’s wing for a long time, and the warmth of his cockpit. They’re not going to understand fighting, or being hungry all the time, or killing, or making sacrifices. They’re gonna be new… brand new, like nobody’s ever been since this slag really began…”

Everyone stared at him. Just like it wasn’t like Sunstorm to giggle, it wasn’t at all like the big triple changer to wax poetic.

“Holy slag,” murmured Bitstream, with an almost frightened look at Starscream.

“This does change everything,” whispered Crosswind rather reverently. “This… this is the beginning of a new era, you know? A new version of Cybertron.”

“That’s if we survive,” grumbled Dirge morosely.

“We’re going to survive,” said Nova Storm stubbornly.

“Yes, Primus wills it!” declared Sunstorm. “We will have victory - Vosian victory!”

It was too much for Starscream to think about. On another orn, any other orn where he wasn’t sparked, he would have added in his own shanix and tried to snag the last word, but he was hurting, so he just lay quietly listening while his mecha continued to discuss it. Nova Storm, Sunstorm and Ramjet continued to attend him, Nova Storm presenting from his subspace a can of human car polish to the amusement of everyone in the cave. Starscream endured the slag being applied to him, and was able to at least silently admit that having shiny plating did make him feel better. When Thundercracker and Skywarp slunk back into the cave a few joors later, he felt bizarrely displeased to see them, to the point where he hissed stressfully until they retreated, Acid Storm whispering a reassurance to his mates that Starscream would want them back in an orn or two.

* * *

“Skywarp, don’t do it,” advised Thundercracker gruffly, watching Skywarp peer around the cave corner at the resting form of their mate, who was drinking his energon under the watchful gaze of Nova Storm. Starscream’s side of the bond was shut off, but Thundercracker did not need to feel his pain to see that his mate was aching again. Something was definitely off with their mate’s diet because he couldn’t recall his own carrier being in pain when she had been sparked, the couple of times that she had been before the Enforcers had ordered her reproductive systems disabled after Thundercracker had been identified as an outlier. He remembered his creators being content, and so did every other seeker he spoke to (minus Starscream who had nothing but irritation to impart regarding his memories of his creators.)

“But I _miss_ him, TC, it’s been five Earth orns,” whined Skywarp. “Acid said it’d only be two.”

“Acid was guessing and Star’s not well, he was late rejecting us in the first place so maybe his rejection period’s going to go longer than normal too,” advised Thundercracker unhappily. “Come on, Warp, step back…”

“But I wanna hug him,” sighed Skywarp. “Look at him, TC - he needs a hug - _our_ hugs! I hate seeing other mecha touching him, _nobody_ does that but us!”

“He’s not maiming so he’s not complaining,” said Thundercracker. “Skywarp, our society’s reverting back to how things used to be for seekers. We used to be all touchy like this a long time ago, remember?”

“No,” whimpered Skywarp, a sad reminder that his sparklinghood had been rudely interrupted by the blatancy of his spark gift, that unlike Thundercracker he had not been allowed to grow to adulthood in the loving sanctuary of an adoring creation trine and extended family. “That was too long ago. I hardly even remember Vos.”

“Oh, Warp,” vented Thundercracker, and he wrapped his arms around his trinemate, hugging him tight, enfolding him with his wings. Since public displays of affection were now greatly back in style, he rubbed his cheek against Skywarp’s and didn’t care at all as Jadewing glanced curiously over from the cave entrance. “I love you. Star’s okay though, Nova Storm is taking really good care of him for us.”

“TC, what’s going to happen when we run out of energon?” whispered Skywarp, his face buried under Thundercracker’s chin.

His question constricted Thundercracker’s spark - unsaid resonated the fact that they only had a few orns’ worth left, and that Starscream’s rejection of them had in fact been timely for making the limited supply of superior fuel stretch further, “I… I suppose that’s when we start attacking Decepticons.”

“I’d rather attack Autobots,” pouted Skywarp.

“Me too,” vented Thundercracker, “but that never got us anywhere really, did it? Remember, the ‘cons are our enemies now, Warp - we steal from them, and if we can’t steal from them… we do what we have to.”

“What do you mean, TC?” asked Skywarp staring at him with huge optics, because it was bad and Thundercracker didn’t want to say.

“If our little ones go down, Warp, they could take down Star with them,” said Thundercracker. “He might not be strong enough to survive a miscarriage… if that’s even a thing for seekers.”


	24. The Flight Frame Initiative

Starscream did not sleep the night of the ball, nor the few after. Every spare waking moment was spent researching cities, universities and scholarships - he no longer gave a slag what program accepted him, because he was certain that he was smart enough to do literally anything, plus he needed to prioritize - whichever university got him the frag out of Vos the fastest would be where he would go. He spent very little time researching logistics like how easy finding jet grade would be, because he was absolutely desperate to avoid the Pit of being trined to Tanzing. Starscream did spend time contemplating his escape - such as how hard it might be with his distinct tricoloured primary markings - but only because he couldn’t very well let Mercury drag him back home to Vos to be trined and scowled at for breaking the rules. He did need to look his best for his entrance applications however, so he resumed grooming himself to his previous high standards and mecha remarked, unaware of the truth, that he seemed to finally be settling into his adult coding.

“Oh, Star, you seem so much better,” sighed Comet, whom Starscream had been forced to attend by Missilefire, who had barged into his room just as he had thought himself safe after escaping his intolerable carrier class that morning. “Here, have Yellowstreak in your lap, he really likes you.” Without waiting for his permission, she dumped the squirming, wiggling lump of infant sibling into his lap with a stroke to the tiny mech’s helm, instantly causing Starscream’s spark to do odd things again, warmly flaring almost… _protective_ over the cheeping seekerling. He felt it even stronger when Yellowstreak looked up at him wondrously and he hastily avoided the little mech’s gaze, at which Yellowstreak made himself comfortable, still contentedly staring at him.

“Awww, Miss, isn’t that sweet? Star’s finally connecting with his younger siblings,” sighed Comet soppily.

“It’s wonderful, Comet,” agreed Missilefire gruffly, his hateful gaze implying certain doom if Starscream didn’t hurry up and pet Yellowstreak. He looked remarkably like Chinook when she glared at Starscream, only far more demented and evil. “Starscream, _look_ at your sibling and pet him, he is not going to hurt you.”

As Comet was tutting over this, chirping encouragement at Starscream to stroke his brother like he was a pet turbofox (“His plating is so soft, you won’t be able to resist, Star!”) Yellowstreak abruptly proved that he didn’t need their creators help in forcing Starscream to cuddle with him as he commenced scaling Starscream’s front with his horrible little claws which he hooked expertly into Starscream’s transformation seams.

“Ahhh-ahh! Ow! What the fr-” Starscream caught Missilefire giving him a distinctly demonic look of warning, “-amework, Yellowstreak, that hurts!”

Yellowstreak squeaked at him and kept climbing until he reached Starscream’s shoulder, where he curled himself into the puniest little ball of seeker against Starscream’s neck, slagging Starscream’s spark as he purred.

“Stop it,” hissed Starscream, refusing to listen, to contemplate exactly how adorable Yellowstreak was, the seekerling’s field radiating innocent happiness. Yellowstreak was apparently as belligerent as he was, because he didn’t listen to Starscream (either that or he didn’t fragging understand Vosian yet.)

To his annoyance, Comet blatantly took image captures of them, swooning, “Killjoy’s going to love these. Star, I can’t wait until you have your trine and your own litter.”

Starscream could. He pursed his lips and narrowed his optics, but decided that it was better not to speak. Fortunately, his little siblings were intensely distracting so Missilefire could not glare at him for long and he had the bewildering view of the huge military seeker laying on his back to let Yellowstreak’s littermates climb all over him while his sire kept one servo engaged with rubbing the plating between Comet’s wings, apparently to ease some of the tension out of her frame from being gravid.

Later that afternoon, Starscream escaped his creators’ room with the distinct impression that all gravid carriers did was lay around. Returning to the sanctuary of his own space, he immediately checked his messages and scowled at the rather rude ACCEPTANCE DENIED letter which the University of Kaon had sent him. He took great pleasure in deleting it, and he was about to put down the datapad to stare longingly out his window, his plating absolutely crawling from having been indoors far too long, when another message popped into his inbox. He glanced at it, looked away, then stared at it in amazement, hastily clicking it open to see that it was a video message. Panicking, he bolted into his washrack to make sure that nobody in the hallway would hear a voice which wasn’t Vosian emanating from his room and shakily clicked it on.

A grinning green and orange ground frame greeted his curiosity, the mech’s background (was it a mech? Starscream had never really seen grounders before, except for Praxians,) a stately looking office.

_ ::Hello, Starscream of Vos! I am Dean Flashpoint of the University of Iacon and I wanted to tell you myself exactly how excited I am that you have applied to our university and answered my new Flight Frame Acceptance Initiative! We are actively trying to get more flight frames like yourself living and working here in Iacon to improve its racial diversity, and because we believe that flight frames have much to offer Iacon which grounders like ourselves simply can’t give our beloved nation.:: said the grounder, beaming. ::In short, on behalf of the University of Iacon, I would be absolutely thrilled if you came to study in Iacon and I have awarded you a scholarship which will cover all school fees as well as living expenses under my initiative! Please do come at your soonest convenience and we will get you set right up - semester begins in a decaorn!::_

Accepted. He’d been accepted into a university on the other side of the world, and he had a way out of Vos, an escape from the domestic Pit which his elders had planned for him.

A typically scowling Killjoy wondered why his facial plating was a mess that evening when he came to drag him to a flock dinner; Starscream told him honestly that it was because he was happy, but he didn’t tell him that it was because he had a way out, a flight path to leave Vos’ restrictive culture behind forever.

* * *

In the end, his plan for escaping the palace was extremely simple, especially given that Courageflight had already told him that they were to fly together. He felt bad that he’d be cutting short time with one of the only relatives that he really cared about, but in the end he needed to leave as soon as possible, and the flight with Courageflight provided a highly convenient opportunity for that. Starscream spent the proceeding orns in preparation - remotely opening an Iaconian bank account to which he transferred his sadly pathetic funds and filling his subspace with as much energon as he could steal.

Even if the only slag he had access to was the revoltingly sweet slag which was reserved for carrier-coded seekers and their very young offspring. 

“Now, how has everyone been finding their energon?” beamed Cooldawn a few mornings before Starscream’s departure, making him feel almost painfully grateful to be _leaving._

“It’s really sweet! I love it!” chirruped Freshnote idiotically.

“It tastes like slag, like a rainbow purged in normal energon,” scowled Starscream, to Cloudbreak’s appreciative snickering.

Cooldawn glared at them, “Prince Starscream, you would do well to appreciate it more! It is highly important that you drink it, especially right now while your systems are still developing - this is a critical time in your life, you know! Your frame is currently calibrating to its adult coding and your reproductive parts are completing their development. It will help prepare your frame for the blessed gift of creation, and it will give your future seekerlings a strong foundation. As a noble carrier-seeker, you will almost certainly carry your trine’s young as soon as your spark is completed, so you simply must drink the specially formulated energon which is being offered to you.”

Starscream snorted hard, “Offered? More like forced, Cooldawn, I don’t have a choice, it’s drink the slag or starve to death.”

Cooldawn had the nerve to look scandalized. “Prince Starscream! You especially as a Prince of Vos must drink your energon -”

“Why? Nobody gives a frag about me,” snorted Starscream, “and I refuse to carry some degenerate trine’s scraplets. I’m not trining that idiot, General Tanzing, nor anyone else who is beneath me. The carrier-grade energon or whatever that slag’s called tastes awful and as soon as I have the opportunity to drink normal jet grade, I will.”

“Besides,” continued Starscream just as Cooldawn opened his mouth to argue, “why does Vos need more seekers? If it’s a population boost required then my dearest creators are doing a phenomenal job all by themselves.”

Cooldawn sputtered, then he spun away and started speaking so obviously on his comm that Starscream knew that he was done for, yet he could not find it in himself to care. Everyone was silent, even Cloudbreak, staring at Starscream in awkward shock, and Starscream wasn’t remotely surprised when the classroom door abruptly opened to admit his cousin Sunfire although he was intrigued to see Strut lurking in the hallway behind him. Sunfire walked halfway into the room and like a gentlemech he offered his arm to Starscream, who noted the hardness in his cousin’s gaze as Sunfire declared, “Prince Starscream, your grandsire wishes to speak with you.”

Frag. Starscream knew that he was slagged if Lord Daggerpoint was involved. He stood as gracefully as possible and placed his servo on Sunfire’s forearm as Cooldawn had been prattling at them to do, drawling, “Oh, mustn’t keep the old mech waiting, I suppose.”

“Be silent,” snapped Sunfire, leading him to the door where he turned, facing Starscream’s classmates. “Lord Daggerpoint extends his hope that you have a lovely orn.”

Starscream almost snorted, but Sunfire’s tone was as cold as a planetary debris ring as he tugged him into the hallway, snapping, “Come, Starscream, and do not speak to Strut.”

“What’s Star in trouble for now, Sunfire?” asked Strut anxiously as Sunfire started walking, pulling Starcream with him.

“He spoke out of turn and insulted our own family,” huffed Sunfire. “That is all I know; your grandsire will punish him.”

Starscream wanted to make some snide remark about what his punishment would probably be, but Strut looked too concerned for him, so he relented, and it hurt his spark when they reached Daggerpoint’s door, where Strut faithfully attempted to accompany him to his fate. Sunfire yanked him back, barking at Strut to remember that he was a guard, and Starscream entered his grandsire’s apartment - one of many, since the paranoid coot liked to change locations every few orns - alone. It was dark and quiet within, and Starscream dreaded Nightglow being there, but the only trinemate he saw was his grandsire’s young enforcer-bred sire-mate Windtracker, who was somewhat disturbingly only a few centravorns older than Starscream was. Windtracker was painfully common and rather stupid (in Starscream’s opinion,) but he was pretty and too meek to argue against living in the palace so that Daggerpoint could continue hovering possessively over Winglord Mercury.

“Hey, Starscream,” chirped Windtracker, wide optics showing that he was worried about Starscream, the heat blazing off of him heavily implying what he had been up to with Starscream’s grandsire before Cooldawn had called to the powers that be. He was laying on a chaise lounge, his plating fluffed and fans working hard to dump heat, his wings lifted not quite in alarm, but to fan them away from his searing hot body.

“Windtracker, leave us,” ordered Daggerpoint, who rose from his trine’s nest like some space monster from a cave, wings lifting in threat, scarlet optics smouldering like coals in the half light of the luxurious, curtained room.

“Okay, love you, Dagger,” chirruped Windtracker softly, obediently trotting not out into the hallway, but into one of the apartment’s anterooms - Daggerpoint did not mess with the protection of his second trine. After the assassination of his beloved winglord and first carrier-mate, the formally subordinate sire was not keen to lose Windtracker and Nightglow the same way, nor to follow his first trine to the Well. The door slid shut with a sigh and Starscream was left alone with the dark shadow which was his grandsire, a mech easily as deadly as General Slater, whose reputation for smashing the helms of mecha trying to shank Starscream’s royal grandsire (until an assassin had succeeded,) was well known. Daggerpoint was not a mech who hesitated when it came to killing in defense of the Winglord and Royal Family - and Starscream was not sure for how much longer, if at all, Daggerpoint’s protection would extend even remotely to him.

“You have been a _pest_, Starscream,” growled Daggerpoint, prowling closer. Starscream wondered whether he had left the curtains closed for dramatic effect. “Professor Cooldawn has reported multiple times that you have been disruptive in your class, and it is obvious that you are acting out in a manner which is utterly beneath you. What happened to your old obedience, Starscream? You were so studious, before.”

Starscream bared his teeth and growled back, “Guess, old mech. Before my upgrades I was going to amount to something important in our country and help Vos progress into the future - now, just because I have the wrong coding, the best I can hope for is to create a damn horde of stupid seekerlings which we don’t even need. And nobody cares how _wrong_ that is, nobody _cares_ that my life plans shouldn’t have to change, that it is our society that should!”

Pain, harsh and blistering, exploded in his cheek as his helm was whipped harshly sideways by a blow, Starscream stumbling hard into a wall with a squeak. Heavy servos steadied him and he felt energon drip down the side of his face as his grandsire gripped his upper arms, steadying him back onto his pedes.

“Don’t you dare _ever_ speak like that, Starscream, our society is the way that it is for a reason! You can hardly help lead the masses when you’ll soon be too busy brooding over a litter!” hissed Daggerpoint. “Carrier mecha are to be protected and cherished - they do not lead! They stay home in the eyrie where they are safe, where they can raise their little ones in peace, content with the knowledge that their trine is taking care of things so that they may have the serenity which they require to nurture their young! You are a caretaker, Starscream, not a politician, and it is past time that you understood that, so I am going to order that you atone for insulting your creators who selflessly gave you your life by you helping them with your younger siblings - whom Killjoy has long reported you avoiding!”

Outraged, Starscream attempted to twist free, spitting, “Frag that! I am not playing caremech to those drooling little idiots -”

Daggerpoint slapped him again, “Stop it, Starscream! We grow tired of this acting out, when are you going to understand and accept your fate? What do we have to do in order to make you meek and behave like a proper noble seeker of your coding?”

Perhaps it was the pain, perhaps it was the denial of everything Starscream wanted, but he found himself hyperventilating out sobs, utterly distraught, at which his grandsire finally relented and hugged him tightly, rubbing his wings soothingly. “There, there, Starscream, you’re alright, you seriously are. Everything’s going to be fine, but if you don’t start behaving yourself, you might find yourself trined with General Tanzing, and I know that you dislike him, so let’s not have that, shall we?”

Starscream canted _no_ desperately, horrified at the very thought of spending eternity listening to Tanzing’s annoying nasally voice.

“Good seeker,” praised Daggerpoint gently. He released him, but kept hold of his servo, “Now, sweetspark, let’s get you to Carrier, she’ll calm you down and you can start doing your part by tending to your little siblings. I hear that Yellowstreak likes you.”

Starscream frankly wondered how the frag his grandsire managed to remember all of his siblings’ names when he couldn’t and he reluctantly walked with his grandsire out into the hallway where Strut was still lurking with Sunfire. Starscream’s littermate gave a pronounced squeak of worry at the energon streaking Starscream’s face but Sunfire prevented him from running to him, Daggerpoint leading Starscream past as though the pair were fixtures of the wall. As promised, Daggerpoint brought Starscream swiftly to his creation trine’s apartment, striding in confidently without knocking, Starscream realizing why a klik later as he saw Nightglow straighten from where Comet was curled up alone in her nest. In Nightglow’s arms was a sleepily playful Yellowstreak, who didn’t seem especially interested in Nightglow petting him, since he kept trying to swat at her servo.

“Daggerpoint, what’s happened?!” gasped Comet, beginning to rise anxiously from her fluffy nest at the sight of Starscream.

“What’s Starscream done now?” snapped Nightglow annoyingly.

“Stay down and rest, Comet,” ordered Daggerpoint, picking Yellowstreak up by his scruff out of Nightglow’s arms and holding him out imploringly to Starscream. Starscream flinched away instead, horrified and this apparently distressed Yellowstreak more than being rudely picked up suddenly by his scruff (he was apparently used to that,) because he commenced squeaking very loudly, which in turn upset an answering chorus from his littermates, who peered innocently out from under Comet’s wing. Comet herself tensed, her wings twitching vertical so that Starscream had an uninterrupted view of Yellowstreak’s entire litter as well as the bulge in his carrier’s middle. The sound and sight of the seekerlings’ distress did something terrible to Starscream’s spark, something which made him fidget in place as something illogical inside of him screamed at him to make his tiny siblings feel better.

“Oh, for Primus’ sake, Starscream! Take Yellow, he isn’t going to hurt you!” snarled Nightglow. “He’s only three vorns old, he can’t even talk yet!”

When Starscream didn’t move, she grabbed his arms and then made him take Yellowstreak, the seekerling and his littermates immediately quieting, Yellowstreak wasting no time at all in hooking his mean little claws into Starscream’s chest plating.

“Ow!” hissed Starscream, which made Comet tense again, a fretful whine coming from her vocalizer.

“Oh stop fussing, he can’t retract his claws yet,” snapped Nightglow.

“Comet, Starscream will be helping you with his siblings from now on,” demanded Daggerpoint, turning and prowling away.

“Excellent; you’ll finally do something useful for the family, Starscream,” hissed Nightglow, stepping closer to Starscream, clearly eager to ream him out more.

“Nightglow, Windtracker and I want to bond,” snapped Daggerpoint. “So stop meddling and let Comet deal with him.”

Knowing that Nightglow was only leaving because his grandsire wanted to get laid, Starscream nearly gagged, and watched until the door snapped shut, at which Yellowstreak peeped astonishingly loudly at him, a scratchy little servo patting his injured cheek. Something kept Starscream from dropping him, but it was a near thing anyway and he slowly sat down in the nest beside his carrier, who immediately abandoned Yellowstreak’s littermates to grab his chin, worrying, “Ohhh, what did you _do,_ Starscream? Your grandsire’s never scratched you before! He loves you!”

Starscream refrained from voicing his logical suspicion that Daggerpoint didn’t love him at all and grimaced as his carrier dabbed caringly at his wounds, moaning, “I’m going to have to weld these - oh, Star, you were being disruptive again, weren’t you? I wish you’d stop acting out, sweetling, being a carrier is so wonderful - I know you’ll agree when you have your own litter, the first time you feel their fields in yours. Besides that, you never have to work or stress about anything - apart from your seekerlings of course! Oh, sweetling, I love you so much, please stop taking your coding as such an insult to spark, it’s a blessing…”

She continued in this mien as she gently repaired his face, Yellowstreak and his littermates peeping an apparent commentary at her all the while which Starscream couldn’t comprehend, but which made Comet giggle, whispering, “Oh, sweetlings, you’re so concerned for your big brother Star, aren’t you? It’s okay, he’s going to be a good seeker now, so this won’t happen again! No, it won’t!”

“Do they actually understand you?” asked Starscream sceptically as Comet subspaced her first aid kit and settled back on her side.

Comet beamed, “I have a spark bond with them of course, Starscream, just like I once had with you, until you got too big and it faded.” One of Yellowstreak’s siblings toddled over to her chin and squeaked at her, at which she scooped the seekerling close, kissing the tiny thing, who trilled in happy affection. Comet kept the tiny seeker nuzzled against her face as she lovingly whispered, “I can feel what they feel. I know when they’re hurt, hungry, happy. All the noise they make is for your sires’ benefit, not mine, and it's them learning to communicate with seekers other than me too - but with Carrier glyphs aren’t needed, right, Ringflight?”

Ringflight squeaked.

“Yes, sweetling, you’re perfect,” purred Comet, kissing the seekerling again. “Oh, you’re so cute! I’m so grateful that we still have so many vorns together like this.” She looked earnestly at Starscream, “Starscream, I love your sires, but I love you and your siblings so much more - you’ll feel the same, some orn. You are everything to me, since you came from my spark, and I do hope that you’ll be happy. I know at least that you’ll adore your litters, no matter who your trinemates are. They could be the worst mecha in Vos and you’ll still love your seekerlings, it doesn’t matter who sired them.”

In the face of losing her forever when he left for school, Starscream found himself unable to contradict her, so he gulped and pointed at Ringflight and Yellowstreak’s remaining littermate, “Um, who is that, again?”

* * *

Considering that he had never spent time with them before, (besides when he had been forced to meet them soon after their birth,) Starscream had no idea why Yellowstreak, Cascade and Ringflight all liked him so much. The three seekerlings were ecstatic whenever they saw him, although never as much as Yellowstreak, who was always climbing into Starscream’s lap. If only secretly, Starscream admitted that the tiny fragger was cute, especially after he discovered how his little brother’s wing nubs flared instinctively when he was lifted into the air, the infant seeker apparently already possessing flight protocols even if it would be vorns before he would have thrusters to match them, not to mention wings big enough to hold his weight. It was adorable, and despite himself Starscream infinitely preferred being forced to attend his carrier and siblings over the revolting carrier class.

“I won’t admit that you’re cute where our creators can hear me,” whispered Starscream to the siblings snuggled in his lap when Comet was taking a much needed soak in the oil bath. He stroked their little wing nubs, which quivered in their sleep, “or when you’re online, but you are cute, okay? Dangerously cute.”

The day of his flight with Courageflight arrived and Starscream felt extremely nervous as he sat with his baby siblings, watching them clumsily play. Even though he was fully fueled, his subspace crammed with energon including some of his favourite goodies which he had managed to swipe, and anything else he had been able to think of, Starscream was scared that he’d be caught, and that it would all be for naught. He wished that he could have studied at the Royal University of Vos instead, as previously planned, because then he could have stayed with his kin, in his home, but now he had to go somewhere he had never been before, a place full of grounders. It did help that at least one of them seemed friendly, but Starscream had never flown so far, nor did he know much about his flight path apart from its coordinates and what it looked like on a map.

“Star, sweetling, are you okay? You seem agitated,” said Comet worriedly as he curled up beside her, trying not to think about how he was going to miss her. Comet was such a benevolent, loving presence in his life - in her optics he had never been able to do any wrong. It was hard to abandon such a wondrous supporter, but Starscream comforted himself knowing how many other older little siblings he possessed who were ready to be with her, not to mention his sires.

“I’m fine,” said Starscream, telling himself that it was true, and he smiled despite himself as Yellowstreak wriggled up to his face with an ecstatic squeak, then a burst of hapless purring.

“I think you’re lying to me,” sighed Comet, but she didn’t press the issue, smiling at little Yellowstreak instead, who was tucking himself against Starscream’s neck. “Aww, Yellowstreak really loves you, Star.”

Starscream couldn’t admit aloud that he thought Yellowstreak was pretty fragging awesome too. He at least filled the hole left by Strut, anyway, and Starscream blanketed his tiny brother’s frame with a servo, earning himself a few more tinny, happy squeaks from Yellowstreak as the puny mech nuzzled up against him. “I don’t get why.”

“He feels a similar spark,” explained Comet, “seekerlings are very sensitive to sparks - it wasn’t so long ago that that is all they were.” She picked up Cascade, who squealed at her for interrupting her attempt to sit on Ringflight’s head and beamed, “Seekerlings are such perfect beings, Star. They know nothing, and yet they know so much.”

Starscream stared at her blankly, wondering if her hormones were fragging with her again. Apparently she was going to reject his sires soon for no apparent reason - he thought that it served them right, for sparking her yet again, and so soon. He watched as Comet released Cascade to romp after Ringflight, his carrier beaming and sweeping a fond servo over her burgeoning tummy, “I know you don’t understand yet, Star, but I promise that you will some orn.”

“I doubt it,” said Starscream, “I still don’t plan on creating.”

“You’ll think differently when you meet your trine,” hummed Comet, staring at her belly as if somehow able to see through its plating at her newest litter. “Raindrop scanned me last night, Star, and your new siblings’ spark chambers are almost complete, so their protoforms will start forming around them soon once their sparks descend from mine.”

This was amazingly disgusting. Despite guilt and his affection for his carrier, Starscream started hoping that Courageflight would hurry the slag up.

“They’re just itty-bitty crystals right now,” prattled Comet happily, as if Starscream had asked to know more, which he most certainly had not. “Tinier than the tip of a digit! So cute!”

How this was at all cute completely escaped Starscream. Fortunately, the door chime tinkled pleasantly at this moment, Comet looking up with a frown and, “Oh, who could that be? Your siblings usually just come in.”

“I can go check,” offered Starscream.

“No, Yellowstreak is being cute with you, I don’t want him disturbed,” decided Comet, and she rose somewhat laboriously to her pedes, her gait evening out as she padded over to the door. To Starscream’s relief, Courageflight swept in like a heroic crusader, pausing to hug Comet tightly before leading the way back to her nest where Starscream was, Comet frowning, “Courage, what are you doing here?”

“Star and I’ve a date, Aunt Comet,” declared Courageflight, carefully rescuing Starscream from Yellowstreak who cheeped plaintively as he was picked up, only to quiet as he apparently recognized Courageflight. “Ahh, sorry to upset you, little mech, but I promised your big brother Star that I’d take him flying some orns back and the glyph in the halls is that nobody’s let him soar since before his upgrades, so he definitely needs this flight. Seekers aren’t grounders - gotta feel the wind or we go crazy; you’ll understand some orn, Prince Yellow.”

“You’re taking Starscream outside?” asked Comet, with a worried glance out the window at the unremarkable overcast conditions beyond.

“Um, yes, that is what I said, and I promise that I will return him afterwards,” said Courageflight, gently depositing Yellowstreak on a cushion with an encouraging, “Cascade’s not looking, so now’s your chance to pounce on her, Yellow.”

Yellowstreak, apparently understanding this, barrelled at his sister and they tumbled in a flailing tangle of short baby limbs and excited squeaks. Starscream concealed an ex-vent of guilt as he got up, abruptly sad for no logical reason at all that his time with his little siblings had been cut so short. Courageflight promptly grabbed him around his waist and pulled him against his side, declaring, “Aunt Comet, Starscream _needs_ this, he’s not a grounder, and I know that nobody at all has actually taken to spark how he feels about what has happened to him. If he goes any longer without flying or ranting at someone sympathetic he’ll probably go crazy.”

Comet stared at them reluctantly, fidgeting, and sighed, at last deciding, “Oh fine, but you will bring him back?”

“Absolutely,” said Courageflight, taking her servo and kissing it. “I love you, Aunt Comet - love you too, tinies.” He said this last to the seekerlings as they frisked around their pedes, squealing excitedly and seemingly playing some indistinct form of tag now.

“Bye, Carrier,” vented Starscream, refusing to get soppy, or do anything which would give away what was happening. Courageflight steered him companionably out the door then took off jogging once they were free in the hallway, Starscream hurrying to keep pace with his cousin. “How’d you know I was there?”

“I was privy to Grandsire ranting with my sire about your incident the other orn in class,” smirked Courageflight.

“Oh,” said Starscream, embarrassed a little that Courageflight knew about that.

“Honestly, I agree with you, things are rather oddly set up in Vos when it comes to our procreation,” said Courageflight. “The poor are forbidden, the middle class must apply for permission, and yet we nobles can have however many litters we want? It’s rather wrong, I’d say, but there’s a lot of things which are wrong in our current society, and with the world. Not that I believe that either of us are at a point in our lives where we reasonably understand any of the perspectives well enough to argue for or against them. You and I, Star, we need more vorns - plain and simple. We’re just too young to know what’s best, and I don’t say that because our elders say that, I say that because I honestly don’t think I have the life experience required yet to honour my potential, nor do you yours.”

“Yes, but I won’t _get_ any chance to honour my potential now,” grumbled Starscream as they reached the nearest exit.

“Taking Starscream for a fly over the city,” chirped Courageflight politely to the guard trine which was stationed in front of the reinforced and blast proof doors.

“Very well, Crown Prince Courageflight, please wait a klik for your escort,” ordered the guard.

“Of course,” said Courageflight and they stepped through the doors, the cold wind which blasted across the launch balcony enlivening Starscream’s frame, his wings instinctively flaring as the air pressure invigorated his dulled sensors. He felt revived as he stood there in the breeze beside his cousin and he shuttered his optics, letting his thrusters come online, his flaps twitching experimentally. _Oh, to fly again! _

“Better?” grinned Courageflight as the guard trine who would be their escorts flew up then hovered overhead, waiting patiently for them to takeoff.

“Much,” ex-vented Starscream, grinning back. Together they ignited their thrusters and transformed, arrowing past the guard trine then nosing up towards the higher altitudes above the palace. The wind was blustering a little, the air currents strong, and Starscream let out an involuntary squeak as his HUD came online with relevant data which he had never had the benefit of enjoying before. A shiver went through his plating as he relished the internal, unobtrusive sight at the edge of his vision - radar, barometer, altimeter, chronometer, speedometer, global positioning system and the suddenly helpful seeming fuel gauge were all there for him to enjoy. Courageflight’s gold blip on his radar was even tagged with his designation glyph, and there were markers for the palace guards nearby, not individualized like Courageflight’s, but clearly marked as their faction.

He must have said something aloud, because Courageflight laughed, “HUD’s cool now, isn’t it?”

“I thought the fuel gauge was so stupid before,” moaned Starscream.

“No way, it’s super helpful when you’re moving!” said Courageflight. “Especially when you go for long flights - now, this is my comm frequency, ‘cus we get to go fast and still talk now that you’re an adult!”

Starscream received a ping from his cousin, and with slight confusion he managed to ping Courageflight back his own brand new frequency, something which as a mechling he’d never had.

“Good job; here’s some other frequencies you should know,” said Courageflight and at his ping, Starscream instantly had all of Courageflight’s contacts, which ranged from Winglord Mercury to the mech who smuggled Courageflight his favourite foreign snacks. Satisfied, Courageflight started pulling ahead, ::Okay, Star, let’s fly fast! Hit me with your complaints!::

Frag, did it ever feel good to fly, and to fly unrestricted - Starscream had never flown without an adult before (an older adult, he supposed Courageflight counted as an adult.) He laughed as they gained speed, swiftly ripping through the sound barrier, the guards falling back slightly as they were unable to keep up whereas Starscream flew level with his cousin, not struggling at all. He wondered if he was still faster than Courageflight - supposing that his escape would hinge on it, he decided to stick with his benevolent cousin for a bit and enjoy his company before getting him in trouble with their cranky relatives. It felt wonderful to be airborne and swift once more, Starscream feeling distinctly powerful as they pelted through the heavens above their magnificent city, at an altitude which the commoners below were seldom allowed.

::So? How slag is it being carrier-coded, mech?:: inquired Courageflight and Starscream unloaded his woes, his cousin pleasing him enormously when he hissed, ::It’s just _wrong._ I agree with you, Star, your reproductive coding shouldn’t have a sway in what you do with your own life.::

::I’m glad you agree,:: said Starscream a bit shakily, noting the time - a joor had passed in flying, and they’d be expected to turn back towards the palace very soon.

::Of course I agree, why wouldn’t I?:: snapped Courageflight.

::Because I have no intention of letting my coding stop me from being something more than my biology,:: said Starscream, internally noting his trajectory and fuel levels - he would need to land in several joors to refuel, but hopefully by then he would have lost the tail which would inevitably follow him. ::I’m going to be important, Courageflight - I love you, I’m sorry, and please tell Strut the same.::

::Starscream, what do you -::

Starscream blocked his cousin’s comm frequency, sleeked his plating for increased aerodynamics, and blasted away hot on his flight path which would lead him straight to Crystal City. On his HUD he saw his confused cousin chase him and he felt alarmed pings from the guards as well as enforcers below who had noticed his odd acceleration, but the only mech capable of catching Starscream, Killjoy, was at the University of Vos - clear on the other side of the city. Starscream fed his thrusters and sprinted away from the only home that he had ever known. On his radar, he saw that Courageflight kept pace with him for a while, but his cousin slowly dropped back, and other mecha took his place only to drop back too. Starscream wondered how long it would be before the royal caretakers found the farewell note which he had left on his berth, explaining what he had to Courageflight - and that he was never, ever returning to Vos, that he was going off to live ‘somewhere’ where he could ascend beyond the domestic, carefully kept existence of a noble carrier.

The world below shifted from beautiful towers to the trackless barren mountains which surrounded Vos like a natural protective wall, and Starscream’s radar slowly emptied completely of mecha chasing him. Despite the lack of obvious pursuit he did not dare cut his speed and by the time he flew into the flight frame friendly nation of Crystal City, he was thoroughly exhausted. After getting out some shanix in the local currency, he checked into the cheapest hostel that he could find and passed out, leaving again the moment that he was lucid enough to avoid crashing into things. Starscream staggered to a cosmetics store where he flattened his wings behind his back to avoid flashing the gold leafed Royal Flock emblem on his right one as he approached the sales associate rotor for help.

“Ma’am, I’m in need of something to cover up a marking of mine for a job interview,” lied Starscream in the best Neocybex that he could muster. The rotor smiled understandingly and showed him over to the cover up options, as well as paint stripper and “- there’s other options as well. For a fair fee we can permanently dye the area a different colour.”

“It’s already been dyed,” grimaced Starscream, bringing the best paint that he could afford to the counter.

The rotor stared at him, “Um, sweetspark, I can’t help you then - but if you ever want it removed there’s a good metallurgist a few blocks over.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Starscream and he promptly found a back alley to awkwardly paint over the delicate gold leaf. He had to twist rather uncomfortably to do it, and he cursed that the Royal marking was permanently coded into the surface nanites of his wing. Winglord Mercury of course had the best metallurgist that shanix could buy, so he doubted that the fancy brand could be removed by just anyone. Besides, he didn’t really want it removed anyway - even if it was covered in paint - which felt tacky and uncomfortable - it was a reminder that he was royal, and better than every single mech around him, no matter what.

Subspacing the rest of the paint, knowing that he would need it for touch ups, he took off for Helex, determined to fly a tangled web across the planet to lose and confuse his pursuit before finally settling in Iacon with his kin hopefully none the wiser about his final destination.


	25. Autobots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Autobots get a notion of where the seekers went, much to Starscream's annoyance (and Skyfire's worry.)

Jet grade energon was, basically, triple concentrated low grade, except it wasn’t entirely that. Flight frames needed a few different things than ground frames for nutrition and Skyfire was grateful for the textpad on energon which Ratchet had given him. The textpad was almost constantly in his servo as he worked in the lab, trying to get the energon right, but creating jet grade was harder than expected, especially given that the low grade which the Autobots were consuming was synthesized itself from Earth fuels (no wonder it tasted bad.) The Autobots had apparently previously_ tried_ to make jet grade, but given up because nobody had time for the testy project, and since their flight frames didn’t appear to be suffering too badly, (Skyfire wanted to scream at this assumption, feeling his own weak spark flicker,) nobody had revisited the project.

Something to do with the synthesizing of the low grade was messing up Skyfire’s bid to make jet grade. The Autobots had been able to make passable (if horrible,) high grade, but jet grade was a trickier fuel. At nearly the same level of energy as some potent high grade, good jet grade could make ground frames sick. It also, in Skyfire’s opinion, had to taste like jet grade, because nothing of what he remembered of Starscream implied that his posh amica endura would drink it if it didn’t.

And then Ratchet had complicated matters, by telling him what one of the Autobot seekers had, that carrier-coded seekers traditionally weren’t even fed normal jet grade - their mates had once fed them an even more concentrated, nutritionally rich version. (While none of the Autobot seekers had deigned yet to come anywhere near Skyfire, they were apparently curious about his project, and the odds of it succeeding, because quote a scowling Ratchet “They want to create too.”)

“How am I to know what that’s supposed to taste like?!” Skyfire had cried, but Ratchet had just shrugged and Skyfire had been left filtering through his memory, trying to find anything he recalled of Starscream’s complaints about his home life, because he had certainly drank normal jet grade in Iacon. (Often with weird, zealous glee.)

Skyfire comforted himself with the idea that the jet grade he was trying to make would help both of them no matter what - even if it wasn’t carrier-grade, it would at least be far superior to the revolting low grade which the Autobots drank (which the Decepticons had apparently been stealing.) The jet grade that he was making would help Starscream carry his newsparks to term, and it would bolster Skyfire’s spark, helping him heal enough to get airborne again. He hated being a glorified grounder, and it aggravated him that all the mecha around him now that he associated with were grounders, because not a single one of them had the capacity to understand what it felt like being unable to fly when he was supposed to. The closest thing he could do was sit on the little hill outside the _Ark_ and stare at the sky, which wasn’t particularly satisfying when he was forbidden from getting _in_ the sky. 

And it was his worries about his still missing amica which made him want to fly even more, so he worked as steadily as he could on the jet grade, trying to get something usable so that he could consume it, and get his spark strong enough that he could go find Starscream. All of his queries lately regarding sightings had been met with head shakes and faint annoyance - none of the Autobots seemed to care that Starscream was carrying, apart from Ratchet and the Prime, who hadn’t retracted his order for the Autobots to leave Starscream’s trine alone. First Aid was downright gleeful as Starscream continuously failed to appear in Earth’s skies and there was a large population of the faction who agreed with him. Wheeljack and Perceptor had an annoying ‘wait and see’ attitude which wasn’t conducive at all for Starscream’s health and Skyfire hadn’t seen Jazz, or the unknown mech known as Blaster, in what seriously felt like forever.

He was checking the molecular composition of his latest batch of what could be jet grade when he heard Wheeljack greet Jazz, who expressed understandable worry over what the engineer was tinkering with.

“It’s not going to explode!” Wheeljack assured him, which was probably a lie, because things seemed to always be exploding around Wheeljack. (Skyfire had set up a blast proof barrier between his part of the lab and Wheeljack’s, wanting to protect his very flammable fuel samples.)

“Y’_say_ tha’ but Ah bet it will!” hissed Jazz, Skyfire looking over his partition to see the grinning visored grounder veering towards him. “Hey, Skyfire, got news for ya.”

“Really?” asked Skyfire, stepping out from behind his partition and immediately regretting it as Wheeljack’s project exploded. He shielded his optics as Jazz groaned and Wheeljack yelped in pain.

_“’S’not going teh ‘splode,’”_ huffed Jazz at the wincing Wheeljack. “Git yer aft teh Ratch, dumby.”

“Owww,” moaned Wheeljack. “Um, I wanna hear about your news first.”

“Fine, s’long as yer not gonna bleed out while I tells yeh,” sniffed Jazz. He turned back to Skyfire and grinned, “Seekers been sighted in Peru - that’s a southern hemisphere country, mech. Nothin’ definite on Screamer, but if yeh see one seeker there’s usually more, and there’s been some mysterious human deaths. Pack together, seekers do, like turbowolves. Most interestin’ thing is in teh one image capture we got outta Peru’s surveillance - it’s slaggin’ poor down there - looks like there’s somethin’ wrong with the faction brand on the seeker’s wing.”

“Can I see?” asked Skyfire as Perceptor and Wheeljack gathered closer eagerly. Jazz nodded and plugged a chip into the lab’s oft-repaired holoprojector. A slightly blurry capture of what was unmistakeably a bright yellow seeker standing in root mode on what looked like a city street with tiny, shabby buildings (compared to the seeker,) bloomed into being.

“That’s a Rainmaker,” recognized Wheeljack. “Haven’t they been on Cybertron?”

“Musta come through teh spacebridge wit’ the Predacons,” nodded Jazz. “Prowl ID’d the mech as Nova Storm. See his brand?” He pointed at where the familiar Decepticon sigil should have been, but only a little bit of it was visible, the rest seemingly wiped out. “Prime was very, very interested in that. So was Prowl - seems this experiment o’yers Skyfire is workin’ out rather neatly still. The damage to teh ‘con mark looks intentional, but we can’t say it is without seeing Nova Storm’s other wing and the rest of his trine.”

“The Rainmakers are extremely dangerous, this could be bad,” noted Perceptor. “What was he doing, Jazz?”

“Seems from what we could gather tha’ he wrecked a convenience store,” said Jazz.

The reason why someone would break into a convenience store was blatant to Skyfire, but Wheeljack and Perceptor stared at Jazz as if he had just declared that they were to indefinitely subsist off of air.

“What? Why would he do that? You’re sure it was a convenience store?!” spluttered Wheeljack. “Not a part store, or -”

“What would a seeker want with an automotive part store?” scoffed Perceptor.

“Apparently, ‘part from the damage, all that was taken was aluminium foil,” said Jazz. “Local humans were right spooked an’ we don’t get it either.”

“You don’t?” asked Skyfire, his spark flaring hard at the information.

“You do?” asked Wheeljack hopefully.

“I’m surprised you don’t find it obvious,” said Skyfire. “If that seeker was stealing aluminium, it’s because Starscream’s trying to supplement himself, it’s likely for him!”

“Good theory,” decided Wheeljack.

“Have you shown Ratchet?” asked Skyfire urgently. “Starscream could be in danger, Jazz! What if he’s not getting enough of the stuff he needs to carry his sparklings?”

Jazz looked at him steadily, finally informing him, “Ratch said the same thing - don’t worry, mech, we already sent out Dogfight’s trine to investigate.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” asked Wheeljack. “The Decepticon seekers usually attack ours.”

“An’ we’re banking on the theory that maybe if their wiped brands mean somethin,’ they won’t,” said Jazz. “In any case, hope soon we’ll know ‘xactly what the wiped brands mean!”

Skyfire swallowed, hoping instead, very dearly, that Starscream wasn’t dying.

* * *

“Winglord, don’t you want your trine back yet? It’ll be very hard to run a meeting tonight with you like this,” said Nova Storm in an annoying, coaxing voice which had most of the mecha in the chamber snickering, but from Starscream’s supremely belligerent glare, the Winglord wouldn’t be welcoming Thundercracker and Skywarp back any time soon. Feeling that the _need_ to mate with Starscream still faintly lingering, Thundercracker couldn’t blame Starscream for not being cooperative and Acid Storm had told him flatly that the Winglord would not allow them back until their compunction to mate with him had completely gone away. Until then, the rejection coding would remain active, and Starscream would keep behaving as though they were his enemies, the coding making him temporarily ignorant of their love.

“Star, it’s been ages and I wanna hug you,” whined Skywarp, who felt like he had never gone so long without at least sitting beside Starscream even when the Royal glitch had been grumpy at them.

“Plus his newspark bump’s gotten bigger,” Ramjet informed the cave unnecessarily, at which everyone, even Blitzwing and Astrotrain, seemed to peer at Starscream’s middle. Thundercracker’s spark flashed hard and he flexed his digits, wishing grimly that he could examine his gravid mate to see for himself. He missed the feel of his trineleader’s plating under his servos, the peculiar softness which was Starscream’s abdominal plating and he yearned to feel the squirm of his growing newsparks beneath that plating, even if he knew that it would be decaorns yet before they would move.

“Frag off, it hasn’t! Ramjet lies!” snarled Starscream, covering his belly protectively and glaring, to snickers from the other members of their faction. Most mecha seemed to be thoroughly enjoying Starscream’s predicament and Thundercracker was torn between annoyance at them for aggravating his trinemate and sweet agreement. Starscream’s pain and grouchiness weren’t fun, but his constant sleepiness and the way he kept instinctively curling around his tummy to protect their unborn little ones was exquisite.

“STA-ARR!” keened Skywarp, inching closer then whimpering as a wary Thundercracker grabbed his wing and shook his helm, wishing that Skywarp would get the point. “I miss you and I wanna seee!”

“Frag off, Skywarp!” shrieked Starscream and feeling concern that Starscream was getting too distressed by their proximity, (a bizarre thought considering how dauntless the Winglord usually was,) Thundercracker took Skywarp’s hand then stood, pulling his dark mate with him.

“C’mon, Warp, let’s go for a fly, Nova’s got him,” murmured Thundercracker.

“But -” whined Skywarp.

“But nothing, Warp, he’s not ready for us yet,” sighed Thundercracker. “Let’s go on patrol, we can at least be useful while we wait for the coding to subside.”

“Frag the coding, I wanna cuddle with him,” complained Skywarp, but the next thing Thundercracker knew they were outside anyway. It was a beautiful morning, the desert air cool but easy, the sky a soft fade of ember to blue. Thundercracker felt his spark and wings lift just gazing at its lustre, and while he had seen millions of sunrises in his time, the ones he had seen since leaving the Nemesis had felt particularly special. Another local planetary orn was beginning, just as Starscream was carrying new lives and they were beginning new chapters in their own, as sires, as members of what would hopefully become a peaceful civilization on Cybertron again.

“Lord Thundercracker, if you’re going for a fly, take Dirge’s trine with you, please,” said Acid Storm, stepping through the cave entrance with the tired looking trine. “Let’s keep our numbers intact.”

“Of course; maybe Warp, Dirge, Thrust, Ramjet and I can find something helpful,” said Thundercracker optimistically.

“Well, in the state His Majesty’s in it won’t make him happy, but it sure would the rest of us,” said Acid Storm. “This desert is cake for flying over - enjoy the winds.”

“Thank you, Acid Storm, take care of Star for us,” vented Thundercracker and feeling the call of the heavens above he took off, thoroughly enjoying the already rising thermals. It was simply lovely weather for a flight - the kind perfect for lazily gliding in circles or play fighting. Thundercracker cruised at point, the chill of the morning sky woke him better than a warm cup of energon. It made him sigh, thinking about how Starscream would have loved it too were he feeling better, as well as how beautiful his trineleader would have looked in the alpenglow with his white plating stroked with gold. He would have looked regal, just as he once had before the Decepticons, maybe even as pretty and as awkward as he had the orn that they had first met him, the very orn that they had taken his spark.

Lost in romance, Thundercracker fondly paid little notice to the passing joors as they executed a wide, wandering lap around their hidden base. Below he saw nothing which was particularly useful to their cause, but Thundercracker kept meditatively scanning anyway. Skywarp was quiet just behind his left wing, his side of the bond yearning painfully for Starscream and their newsparks. Skywarp hated being away from Starscream - there was no possible way that Acid Storm or any of the others could protect the Winglord better than they could. Once in a while the anxiety peaked and Skywarp would swerve back towards the base, but a chirp from Thundercracker always brought him back.

::Getting low on fuel,:: noted Dirge quietly after a few more joors of this, the planet having long rotated into its next short local orn. The Coneheads hadn’t had anything to say since takeoff and it was almost startling to hear one of them speak.

::Alright, let’s turn back for base,:: ordered Thundercracker. Maybe Starscream would feel better about them now; he felt Skywarp brighten, eagerly thinking the same. Perhaps Starscream would finally want to cuddle, would sit in Skywarp’s lap and purr? Thundercracker didn’t dare hope, but Skywarp wanted to regain physical contact with Starscream so dearly. Skywarp wanted to pet Starscream, shower him with kisses and tuck him under his wing for a good, long, proper nap. Cuddling Thundercracker without him tucked between their frames just wasn’t the same.

Thundercracker was just reassuring Skywarp that his desire to trine snuggle was just as strong when Ramjet voiced what he himself had just noticed, ::Caught a blip on my radar - no, three!::

Thundercracker banked towards the blips as his radar failed to identify the signals as tagged members of their faction and he brought his guns online.

::That’s a trine formation, TC,:: said Skywarp uneasily.

::Signals are Cybertronian,:: agreed Thrust.

::They’re seekers,:: confirmed Ramjet. ::Autobots? Some of our faction’s still missing.::

::Unlikely to be ours,:: said Thundercracker, watching the swift moving blips turn towards them, visually becoming specks with distinctive double tailfins. ::Our other trines are across the galaxy; remember what my trineleader His Eminence said - the Autobots are not enemies unless they attack first and we are no longer Decepticon - we are Vosian.::

He grimaced internally, ::Be prepared to engage anyway, just in case - we will defend ourselves.::

::That’s Dogfight and his trine,:: identified Dirge as their potential and former foes got closer. Thousands of vorns of attacking Autobot seekers on sight as traitors to Vos made Thundercracker itch to shoot, but he held off, watching the three traitors fly closer, then staring as they suddenly banked away.

::What are they doing?:: asked Dirge. ::They saw us! Why…?::

Thundercracker saw why, and his internals turned to ice as his spark confirmed - arrowing across the desert skies alone, at the edge of his radar, was Starscream.

* * *

Sick of being simpered over and babied, and especially sick of not flying, Starscream had waited until his mecha were distracted by a bout of coughing from Astrotrain aspirating his petroleum like an idiot, then he had bolted for the cave entrance. Mecha had called for him - mecha had reached for him, lunging for his wings - but apparently the parasitic cargo in his gestation tank had yet to take away his root mode speed the same way as his alt. Resting for orns probably also played a big part and as Starscream sprang out of the cave opening, he wasted no time in transforming then blasting up to sweet freedom like a rocket, thoroughly enjoying the illogical panicked shouts of his faction because, quote, ‘he’d gotten loose.’

_ Hahaha, take that, fraggers,_ smirked Starscream, picking a random direction and blasting off in it as mecha desperately attempted to follow him, but he was too quick for all of them, plus too determined - his frame randomly wanted something again. What his addled frame wanted, his addled frame got, so by Primus, Starscream was going to find it, and frag all the weirdos trying to coddle him just because he was packing _passengers._ (And honestly, he didn’t care if he didn’t actually know what his dumbaft frame desired if it meant that he got to _fly.)_

Flying felt so, so, so sweetly good. Starscream almost purred at the sensation of his wings cleaving through the warm, clear air - if the desert was good for anything, it was making nice, smooth thermals. Without the annoying humidity present practically everywhere else on the infernal planet, there were no clouds, which meant no nasty turbulence as he tried to cut through one. Here, there was just flying - and even with his encumbered abdomen, with the heat still rising off of the ground below, Starscream found that he could fly quite fast indeed. It felt great to be airborne and alone - even if he wasn’t quite as he noted a couple of trines straining to catch him, one probably Acid Storm’s. He smugly ignored the attempts to communicate that they made, the insistent worried pings, and sleeked his plating to gain more speed, to remind the fraggers that he was _Starscream,_ Winglord of Vos and unparalleled Lord of the Skies.

This went quite well for about half a joor, Starscream adeptly managing to stay ahead of his well-meaning pursuers, who annoyingly managed to stay present on his radar when normally he would have easily lost them. After the half joor his thrusters began to strain, and he was annoyed to see a low fuel warning pop up, as if he hadn’t drank a cube only a joor previous at Nova Storm’s irritatingly kind insistence. He attempted to ignore it, to pretend that his HUD was glitching, but when he glanced at it next, his spark did a massive flicker as he saw something much more pressing than the fuel warning.

Blips. Three - none of which were his faction - all of which were moving extremely fast towards him, all of which he realized were Autobots - and one of which he realized had active guns. His spark squalled with panic and before he could remind himself that he was Winglord and Air Commander Starscream, Better Than Any Autobot, Scourge of the Skies, he found himself diving in terror, scared out of his wits even though he had faced literally thousands of threats far worse than a trine of defectors looking to kill him. One of them - Dogfight - barrel rolled after him and he heard weapons discharge, a bolt grazing his left tailfin -

“DOGFIGHT, NO!” cried one of Dogfight’s trinemates. “YOU REMEMBER WHAT PRIME SAID -”

“FRAG OFF! Now’s our chance! It’s payback time!” snarled Dogfight as he matched Starscream’s slalom and _gained_ on him. “I’m gonna kill him and get revenge -”

“Dogfight, his newsparks are innocent! Stop it!” cried Dogfight’s second idiot, Starscream catching just a glimpse of the third seeker seemingly trying to lunge at Dogfight. Starscream was far too terrified to watch, his stupid carrier protocols making him a panicky ninny, completely unwilling to do anything sane like fight, and he attempted to sheer up towards space, desperately looking for any sort of advantage -

“GET AWAY FROM STAR!” howled an absolutely murderous voice and Starscream’s idiotic spark did a flicker of glee as the non-Dogfight seekers shrieked, Dogfight himself screeching in agony in a completely satisfying way. Unfortunately, Starscream’s dumbaft protocols wouldn’t let him enjoy the sight of Skywarp tearing into Dogfight - he squeaked like a seekerling looking for its carrier, saw a livid Acid Storm rushing straight at him, made another idiotic sound of cowardice, then bolted in no particular direction. The angry shouts, snarls and shrieks of pain had just started to fade when Starscream sensed someone else rushing straight at him; with a hiss he transformed, apparently finally ready to defend himself, only to make another dumb squeak as a root mode Thundercracker braked right into him then entwined with him midair, strong, comforting arms encircling him then holding him lovingly close. 

Shocked in the very best possible way, Starscream huddled against his mate, who supported him, hovering on his thrusters, wings angled to shield him. Pushing his nose against Thundercracker’s neck, he in-vented sharply, drawing in the mech’s smell, the comforting scent of a well worked frame making him wrap his arms around Thundercracker’s neck then keep his face there, tucked under his mate’s chin. Completely gone was any will to attack him - now all he wanted was Thundercracker’s protection, which seemed illogical to Starscream when he had perfectly functional null rays. Behind Thundercracker there was more screaming, and Starscream was distantly conscious of Skywarp’s utter rage, that Thundercracker was extremely angry too, but he was too relieved to take much notice.

“Dogfight!” sobbed one of Dogfight’s trinemates; Starscream had never bothered learning their designations. Thundercracker growled and started lowering him to the ground, Starscream shakily letting his pedes touch as his mate crouched over him, watching the sky above them for Skywarp.

“Get out of here, traitors!” roared Acid Storm. “We’ll let you go this time, but only so that you can tell your vile Prime that we are no longer Decepticons! Any further attack against us will be viewed as an act of war!”

Starscream didn’t hear anymore, because a klik later there was a familiar sensation of air displacing and a flash which he saw out of the corner of his optic, then Skywarp was upon him, the black seeker purring like mad in relief as he checked him over. Starscream attempted to make his vocalizer work to tell him off but Skywarp was too affectionate to yell at and somehow Starscream endured both of his mates peering critically at his middle, servos caressing it gently before he was abruptly tucked protectively against Thundercracker again. 

Thrusters sounded as mecha landed around them, Acid Storm exclaiming, “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” said Thundercracker, and he had the grace not to mention how thoroughly spooked Starscream was because of his stupid coding.

“I’m gonna teleport him and TC back to base,” said Skywarp, his servos resting on Starscream’s waist. “He’s tired.”

“I should think so, after all that,” said Acid Storm, as if they had just experienced a decaorn worth of siege instead of a puny skirmish. “Good idea, Lord Skywarp; do you want us to bring back what you took?”

“No, I’ll grab it,” and to Starscream’s confusion, his second mate left him, then teleported back, holding -

Skywarp suddenly teleported, this time with him and Thundercracker as well, and thus Starscream purged on the cave floor, but surprisingly, his vomit was absolutely nothing compared to the pool of line energon which was bleeding out of Dogfight’s greying, disembodied wing. Starscream gaped at it, and seemed quite unable to stop puking as he realized some of the grotesque line energon was on _him_, was marring _his_ plating -

“This is what happens to mecha who threaten my Star,” huffed Skywarp quite unnecessarily, hefting the wing which got line energon all over him too. Wherever Dogfight was now, Starscream had doubts about the mech’s survival; he caught sight of the torn components and lost what little was left of his fuel tank’s contents.

“Skywarp, put that over there, it’s dripping all over the place!” exclaimed Thundercracker in disgust. “Now Star’s all filthy.”

“What? Oh!” yelped Skywarp, and dropping the wing, which everyone present in the cave recoiled away from, he rushed to hug Starscream, Thundercracker mercifully snatching Starscream away from his reaching servos.

“It’s all over you too!” protested Thundercracker. “Let’s keep our Winglord pretty, Warp! Clean up!”

Despite having seen and even ordered all manner of atrocities over the course of the war, Starscream somehow couldn’t look at the line energon, nor could he tolerate it. His plating crawled where it had violated him and he felt completely nauseated even as Thundercracker hastily yet thoroughly wiped him down with a rag from his subspace which Starscream did not believe was at all clean, given that he was pretty sure that Thundercracker usually used it for post-interface hygiene. He kept murmuring lame reassurances too, which should have been annoying, and Starscream was grimly appreciative at Thundercracker spitting, “No, Warp!” when Skywarp attempted to get in close with them again before he was fully clean.

“I incapacitated Dogfight for you, Star,” huffed Skywarp.

“Yeah, great, Warp, coulda left the Autoglitch’s wing where it fell instead of bringing it here,” growled Thundercracker, distinctly unappreciative as he coaxed Starscream into his lap and wrapped his thermal blanket around him. Thundercracker’s frame, still flight hot, felt lovely and Starscream curled against him as his unhappy spark finally began to settle.

“It’s a statement, TC!” complained Skywarp as Acid Storm and the others returned. “It warns fraggers not to mess with us!”

“And I bet the Autoglitches will be along shortly looking for it!” snapped Thundercracker, servos caressing Starscream’s backstrut, rubbing so soothingly.

“You are both right, my lords,” said Acid Storm, typically settling down close by, Nova Storm folding against his side with a big stupid grin.

“It’s so lovely, isn’t it, Acid? The Winglord’s accepted his trine back,” sighed Nova Storm, weirdly dreamy. 

Acid Storm, to Starscream’s relief, gave Nova Storm a confused look as if wondering where this romantic slag was coming from, and possibly whether Nova Storm had forgotten his processor somewhere. He seemed to decide to fly with it, somewhat mechanically grunting, “Yes.”

“Primus has blessed us again,” agreed Sunstorm with Nova Storm.

“Warp, get rid of that energon saturated sand before it stinks up the cave,” snapped Thundercracker, slipping a servo into Starscream’s blanket and finding his belly with it. Starscream pushed it away and Thundercracker snorted, “Still not sharing, huh, Star?”

Starscream did not deign an answer as Thundercracker sighed and wrapped his arms around him. To Acid Storm Starscream scowled, “Those Autoglitches know for sure that we’re in this area now, has there been any progress on finding another base?”

“Not yet, Winglord,” said Acid Storm.

“What if it’s fragging Decepticons which find us next?” growled Starscream.

“Then we kill them, Star,” said Thundercracker. “We won’t let them hurt you.”

“Megatron and Shockwave never made full use of my trine’s spark gifts,” smirked Acid Storm. “Any mecha who move against us offensively will wish that they had not, trust me, Your Majesty.”

Starscream huffed - trust was well fine and dandy, but Acid Storm didn’t have his sanity coding getting corrupted by selfish little frame parasites.

“Shh, Star, let’s have some fuel now,” whispered Thundercracker as Skywarp finished his distasteful task and snuggled as close to them as he could. Starscream ex-vented and reluctantly sipped at his energon, which was twice as unpleasant with the powdered supplements in it, coating his whole mouth in nasty grit. It did hardly anything to settle his tank, but at least his trine was with him again, warm and comforting, so he no longer had to entertain the faction’s other carrier-coded mecha.

“Here, Star, have some aluminium,” chirped Skywarp, offering him a shred of foil, and Starscream wished that it was a rust stick instead, but he was feeling gloomy enough after how his coding had made him behave in response to Dogfight’s attack to wonder if he would ever eat anything good again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for today, I hope you guys enjoyed these four new chapters! Happy Valentine's Day! (Or Single's Awareness/Chocolate Appreciation Day if you prefer.) Thank you for reading!


	26. Null Rays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Starscream arrives in Iacon and discovers an exciting (but very racist) new world - but will he get to stay there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I forgot that this chapter has my OC Scattershot in it, and his pure aggravation made me want to post it now! So, this bonus chapter is brought to you by Scattershot - and his idiot service trinemates, Redbomb and Nimbus.

Iacon sprawled grand beneath him, stretching from one horizon to the other, its towers stubby and ugly (although not for lack of trying,) compared to Vos’ magnificent spires. It was still a beautiful city, but it was distinctly foreign, and Starscream immediately felt the absence of his kind as he cut across its border. The skies above Iacon were empty of Seeker-kind, although he could see a fair few shuttles and rotors on wing. As exhausted as he was, he lacked his usual curiosity, and he hazily consulted his city map, trying to navigate to the university where Flashpoint had noted in his official acceptance letter that he had a dormitory room awaiting him. He was so tired and so single-mindedly focused on following the university’s coordinates that he was paying very little attention to his radar.

Telltale thrusters shrieked directly behind him just as he was musing over how easy it was to fly in skies devoid of any traffic and he jumped, banking hard on wingtip to look back at the trine which had snuck up behind him.

“Whoa, sorry pretty one!” laughed the white seeker with bizarre, artful silver markings who flew at point. A nearly pure black seeker and a scarlet one flanked behind him. He spoke horrible, strongly accented Vosian which felt like an insult to Starscream’s refined royal audials. “Didn’t mean to startle yeh, we jus’ never seen yeh before, an’ we don’t gotta lotta seekers here!”

Starscream stared at them warily, wondering if the seekers were in contact with Vos, whether they might tattle on him, and it occurred to him that he should have done something more to hide his markings above simply concealing his royal brand behind paint.

“Where’s yer trine, gorgeous?” asked the trine leader. “Iacon ain’t a good place for a lone seeker t’be - ain’t that right, Redbomb, Nimbus? I’m Scattershot, by the way - Iacon Aerial Enforcement.”

Frag, they were enforcers. Starscream swiftly tried to calculate what to say.

Redbomb made a flirtatious sound, “Primus, you _are_ a sight - carrier-coded for sure.”

“I am _not!”_ squawked Starscream, unable to help flaring his plating. “I’m just small!”

“Ooo, watch this one, mecha,” cackled Scattershot, seeming distinctly unprofessional. “He might be lovely t’look at, but he got spunk! Bet he gives his trineleader all kindsa grief!”

“I am the leader of my trine!” snarled Starscream. “I am perfectly capable of flying on my own, so slag off!”

“Ooo, better watch it, mecha, feisty here ain’t in a mood t’play with older seekers like us,” snickered Scattershot. “Where y’off to, pretty mech? Y’look young.”

“Frag off,” snapped Starscream again, now convinced that the idiots were lying to him about the aerial enforcement thing - if anything, he couldn’t see any official looking markings on their wings to support their claimed occupation. “I’m busy and I have no time for you slagheaps.”

It was so refreshing to be able to swear at people without some horrified royal elder glaring at him.

Scattershot and his idiots just laughed, “So much sass! Y’creation trine messed up, pretty mech, y’ain’t gonna find y’self a trine acting like that!”

“I told you, I already have a trine!” snapped Starscream.

“No way,” cackled Redbomb. “You’re like what, two decavorns old? Y’look like y’only barely just got yer upgrades.” This triggered a chorus of agreement and more cackling from his friends.

“Go away, there’s no way that you fraggers are aerial enforcers and if you were you’d have designations on your wings,” snapped Starscream.

“We’re private hires, eh? Not enough seekers in Iacon for ‘em to make a force of us,” said Scattershot. “We’re on Iacon’s payroll, trust us, mech. Now where y’going? Hope yer not gonna land no where right below us - this district ain’t good place for seekers. Grounders below are rough and they’d think wings like yours mean fun times.”

“Ew,” said Starscream, attempting to fly away from them, but annoyingly, they kept up, and in his tired state he couldn’t seem to pull ahead.

“We can give yeh directions, an’ maybe an escort ‘cus y’look kinda heavy on your wings, sweetspark,” said Scattershot, drawing level with him, his tone turning almost kind.

“I don’t need a fragging escort,” snapped Starscream.

“Then we can fly in th’same direction,” decided Scattershot. “Just ‘til we see yeh landed somewhere safe.”

Starscream tried harder to outfly them, but his exhausted thrusters protested extravagantly and so he was forced to fly at their speed, Nimbus commenting, “Real cranky, ain’t he?”

“Cute as frag though,” said Redbomb. “Don’t see tricolours like him much.”

Starscream stayed resentfully silent, infuriated that he couldn’t escape them.

“Where y’from, beautiful?” asked Nimbus. “Y’from Vos?”

“’course he’s from Vos, y’ever see a seeker that fine come outta Polyhex or Praxus or even Crystal City?” huffed Scattershot. “This one’s got some good genetics f’sure. Makes me wish our seekerlings were jus’ upgraded so one could nab ‘im into our fam.”

“I am a _trineleader,”_ hissed Starscream, “I am not carrier-coded!”

“Y’keep telling yerself that, pretty,” snorted Scattershot. “Delusional, ain’t he?”

Unable to figure out a way to make them frag off, or at least shut up, Starscream flew towards what he hoped desperately was the spaceport, suspecting that the idiots would think him safe there so that they would go away. He didn’t want to lead them to the university - if some palace mech came sniffing for him, the trio (he couldn’t tell if they were actually a trine, suspecting that they were all sire-coded,) seemed like exactly the sorts to blab that they had seen him. He hadn’t realized that tricoloured seekers might be distinctive outside of Vos - certainly his colour coding had always seemed special to him, but most of the seekers he knew had at least a little bit of a third colour on their wings. His more evenly mixed collection of shades did make him a showstopper, but he had never thought that this might be a thing unique to Vos.

“Eh, what y’doing here, pretty?” asked Scattershot conversationally as they entered the spaceport’s airspace (thank Primus it was a spaceport, Starscream thought.)

“Got some things to do,” snapped Starscream, which wasn’t quite a lie. He did need to find out where to purchase jet grade, but he had rather hoped that he could do that particular research after a good lengthy recharge. “Can you please leave me alone? Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Don’t got anything better to do than protect one of our own, pretty,” Scattershot informed him dementedly as they began their final approach to one of the vast building’s entrances. “Them grounders can be _mean.”_

“I’m sure, but I can take care of myself,” snapped Starscream.

“How?” asked Redbomb doubtfully.

_ “Null rays?”_ hissed Starscream.

“Y’don’t have null rays,” said Redbomb. “Least functional ones. Mech, if y’did y’woulda tried ta shoot us already, we been drivin’ yeh up to the stars and back.”

Starscream almost stalled, he was so incredulous.

“It’s kinda obvious too - if yer a trineleader like y’say, why don’t you have functionin’ null rays?” wondered Nimbus. “Trineleader needs null rays t’protect his trine and his little ones.”

Screaming. Starscream felt like screaming. He transformed and landed, then commenced attempting to out-walk them instead, striding as fast as he could make his tired frame work. Unfortunately, their legs were longer than his, and they kept up easily in his tired state.

“So, if y’don’t have usable null rays, it’s ‘cus someone thought yeh’d never need ‘em, which means you’re carrier-coded, pretty mech, and meant to stay home in yer trine’s nice cozy eyrie where you don’t have to worry about slag like defendin’ yehself,” concluded Nimbus with deeply annoying intelligence. “That’s what yer trine is for, which I bet yeh don’t have, ‘cus yer alla two decavorns old and y’don’t have no suitor hanging off yer wing, tryna charm yeh. Suitor’d chase us off quick for annoyin’ yeh.”

“Then _stop_ annoying me!” cried Starscream, finally losing his patience and whirling on them. They stopped in surprise then smirked idiotically.

“Not until we see yeh somewhere safe, pretty mech,” winked Scattershot. “We feel responsible for yeh, since some idiots obviously let yeh fly at liberty where y’ain’t safe. Not insulting your creators, o’course - just idiots.”

“Yeah, by the looksa _you_, your creators must be lookers an- aw, fraggit!” growled Nimbus. “Look, Scatter.” 

The three sire-coded seekers closed ranks around Starscream, who was left trying to peer around them as a gigantic green grounder stomped past, glaring at them.

“Must still be construction happening here,” hissed Scattershot.

“You stay away from the big idiots like him, pretty,” warned Nimbus. “They don’t like seekers, they think we’re no better than vermin an’ they’ll attack you. If y’had null rays we’d tell yeh that you gotta hit them twice to incapacitate them, but you don’t have null rays, so avoid ‘em entirely.”

“Is… is that actually a thing here? Grounders attacking seekers?” asked Starscream, twisting to peer back at the retreating grounder.

“What privileged eyrie did you flutter out of, mechling?” demanded Nimbus. “Grounders here are mean. Don’t trust them. There’s a few smart ones, but most of ‘em are dumb brutes - now, where you wantin’ t’go, beautiful?”

Part of Starscream’s spark squeaked home, but he hardened his resolve and decided that perhaps he needed to trust these local seekers, just a little, “The University of Iacon - I’m to be a student there.”

He tried not to be annoyed by their looks of profound surprise.

“Well, that’s honest at least,” shrugged Scattershot. “Let’s get you some jet grade first, y’really do look exhausted, Cleverwings, an’ we can’t have yeh droppin’ outta the sky.”

Relieved, Starscream followed them, and listened closely as they gave him other warnings regarding grounders in the city, taking their information about what areas to avoid along with which were safe to spark - he had a feeling that his life might depend on it, if the murderous look the green construction grounder had been anything to go by.

* * *

Starscream had difficulty finding the admissions building at the University of Iacon, probably because he had never once in his life been called to actually find a specific building before. Up until his escape, his entire existence had been spent in the palace with the exception of the times that Killjoy had taken him to the Royal University of Vos. In the palace he had never had to search for things - his world had been small and closed, everything he had needed close at servo. He had never had to think about feeding himself, because there was always fuel, and if he needed company, there had always been some kinseeker whom he could spend his time with.

Below, the University of Iacon’s grounds were sprawling much like the city it belonged to, its beautiful buildings squat, rendered of stone, with none of the glitter of the Royal University of Vos. It was magnificent in an exotic way, and it took Starscream three very exhausting joors just to find the admissions building, mostly because Scattershot wouldn’t let him walk anywhere. His three self-appointed guardians were intensely suspicious of the ground frames strolling the complex, and Starscream couldn’t help noticing that it looked like the grounders present felt exactly the same way about Scattershot. The trio stalked after him everywhere he went, and when he finally found the front door of the admissions building, they fidgeted furiously, Scattershot huffing, “Y’know, not sure this is a good idea, Cleverwings. Yer the only seeker here.”

“I will be _fine,”_ impressed Starscream, doing his very best not to lose his dwindling patience. “I’m going inside now. I’m sure that the nice admissions staff will take very good care of me.”

Scattershot, Redbomb and Nimbus all looked at him as if he had lost his mind, Scattershot scratching his helm as he decided, “Now, whatta we just finished tellin’ you, Cleverwings? Don’t trust grounders for nothin.’”

“I won’t,” promised Starscream.

“Then we gonna linger close by,” huffed Scattershot, “’til we know you’re real’ safe.”

Starscream rolled his optics, “Fine. Suit yourselves.”

“That we will,” said Scattershot, “an’ when ye decide this slag’s not for yeh, we’ll help yeh contact yer family."

Starscream’s spark jagged with anxiety and he sneered, “That won’t be necessary.”

He turned away, marched through the door with a flick of his wings, and with no apparent line, he walked straight up to the admissions desk, slipping his datapad out of his subspace to have it ready. Every frame in the room looked around at him as if he were an agent of Unicron, so Starscream perked his wings proudly and slid his datapad with the relevant acceptance file open on it across the surface to the hideous brown ground frame admissions clerk. He smiled as genuinely as possible, trying to look as endearing as he could as he chirped in the very best Neocybex that he could muster, “Hello, I’m hoping that you can point me in the right direction for getting set up, this is my admissions data.”

The grounder gaped at him, and slowly pushed his datapad back at him, “You must be joking, we don’t get seekers here.”

Starscream slid it back, “I am not. I was accepted by Dean Flashpoint himself. You can check with him,”

“That’s not possible,” said the grounder - Starscream thought it might be a femme, but he couldn’t tell. He had never met a ground frame which wasn’t a Praxian before. “We don’t admit seekers, a war frame like you would never -”

Just as Starscream was seriously wishing that he did have functional null rays, that his weren’t idiotically just there because seekers had evolved with them but non-functional because protocol claimed he’d never need them, an excited voice rang out.

“Starscream! I thought I saw you outside - I’m so excited that you’ve arrived!”

Waving at him from a balcony above him was the green and orange dean of the university, Flashpoint, who looked absolutely delighted to see him.

“Hello, sir,” called Starscream smugly, the admissions clerk gaping at them both.

“Enginelight, make sure that you speed Starscream through the process, he’s been granted a full tuition and accomidation - he’s part of my Flight Frame Initiative!” exclaimed Flashpoint happily. Starscream had to clip his denta together to keep from snorting aloud at the shocked looking admissions clerk’s ridiculous designation. Flashpoint beamed at Starscream from the balcony, “I can’t wait to watch you grow here, Starscream, I have high hopes for you! I have to go attend a meeting now, but I’ll be around to check on how you’re doing! Welcome to Iacon, my dear seeker!”

“Thank you, sir,” said Starscream, making a leg as he would have for his royal aunt and saluting with his wings at his benefactor. Flashpoint looked absolutely thrilled - he waved excitedly then disappeared, a second orange grounder appearing briefly to smile at him, waving too before vanishing after the friendly dean, what looked like about ten datapads stacked in his arms. Starscream smirked at Enginelight as soon as they were gone and pushed his own datapad closer to him, “Well?”

The grounder looked like he wanted to vomit and he sounded like he was causing himself great internal injury as he grated, “Welcome to the University of Iacon, Seeker Starscream of Vos.”

“Thank you,” smirked Starscream, certain that within a decavorn, they’d all be too impressed with his intelligence to remember that they had ever had reservations about his being a seeker.

* * *

The mech in charge of the student dormitories looked just as pole-axed as Enginelight by the news that Starscream was a student. Starscream suspected that this meant that the idiot would be giving him some shabby accomidation with about ten roommates, but instead the muttering grounder took him to a nice looking dormitory building, grunting as he opened the front door for Starscream, “This is it. You’ll be in here - it’s usually reserved for senior students but you’re a seeker, so I don’t want you fragging everything in sight and causing problems.”

Starscream stared at him and the grounder continued as if he had no concept at all that what he had just said might have been remotely insulting, “You get a room by yourself; these ones have sound proofing and everything, so if you do decide to take someone home - and that’s your business, not mine - it’ll stay just your business.”

Starscream forgot to move his legs, and he was still staring at the mech when he reached the elevator, the grounder impatiently clucking, “Aren’t you coming?”

“Do you possibly have seekers confused with petrorabbits?” wondered Starscream.

“Well, you have so many sparklings,” shrugged the grounder.

“That’s because we have multiple sparklings at once,” said Starscream, the idiot going unsaid. “We’re no more promiscuous than any other frame type.”

The grounder stared at him unintelligently. “Oh.” He shrugged, and without anything remotely approaching an apology, he began showing Starscream around the building, informing Starscream when they reached the communal wash racks, “There’s no interface allowed in here.”

“Why would anyone want to interface in a public space?” demanded Starscream.

“Dunno,” shrugged the grounder, and without any pause, he led Starscream at last to his room, which Starscream was delighted to notice was on the top floor. He gave Starscream his key card and muttered something about an energon supply down the hallway, then something else regarding how fighting wasn’t tolerated, then he wandered out of the room, the door snapping shut behind him. Starscream stared at it, almost shocked to so suddenly be alone, completely by himself with no kinseekers or anyone else nearby for the first time in his life. He spun in a slow circle to regard his surroundings - surroundings which were plain and not opulent at all, but which were_ his. _

Everything in the room was painted a boring but pleasant clean white, as if the university had thought that colour would be a waste of shanix on a student dorm, but Starscream didn’t mind. He did not care that the berth was small (he could curl up,) or that the desk chair was not going to work with his wings (he could get himself a cheap padded stool and use the desk chair as a depository for textpads, perhaps.) Starscream was just happy that he had a desk, and when he discovered that the window opened his wings gave an excited flutter, because it would be wonderfully convenient for flying. The window sill was wide enough for his pedes and there was room on the walls for posters, something he’d never been allowed before (royal décor typically consisted of paintings of glaring ancestors.)

He was free. He’d escaped Vos.

He was wrong.

* * *

Starscream liked his new dorm room because for the first time in his existence he had a space which was completely his, which caretakers weren’t constantly intruding upon to maintain a certain level of royal standards. Therefore, he could at last be as messy as he had ever wanted, all of the possessions which he had managed to cram into his subspace scattered across the space, at least until this irked him, the royal standards of vanity and hygiene more deeply ingrained in his psyche than he had ever suspected. After an orn he decided that being a slob wasn’t actually fun at all, and he promptly rearranged his possessions in a more seemly order - however, there were still other things for him to explore - an entire citystate screamed for his attention, in fact.

He had never had free reign in Vos - there had always been a guard escort when he had flown, and he had rarely been permitted outside of palace airspace. Therefore, it seemed only natural that he indulge in rocketing across Iacon’s heavens like a ballistic missile on the orns that he had free, because apparently flying a convoluted zigzag around the world in order to shake off benevolent pursuit had done absolutely nothing to curb his need to fly. Plus, there’d been the orns where he had not been allowed to fly before that, so Starscream supposed that he was making up for lost time as he charged unhindered across Iacon, delightedly watching his speedometer climb. He would hit what seemed to be the pinnacle of his speed, only to gleefully press himself even faster, flying far swifter than he had ever been allowed to in Vos. Starscream felt like he was finally at last living up to his full potential as a seeker, at least aerially, and it felt amazing to return to his dorm room, wings heavy from ripping apart Iacon’s sky all orn.

Freedom felt good; Starscream laid down on his little berth on his stomach and gazed fondly out the open window at the beautiful sunset taking place. Iacon was going to be a great new home for him, he could feel it, and he couldn’t wait for his plans for the third day of his freedom - he was going _shopping._ He was going to buy the stool he needed for his desk, and it was going to be fun (so long as Scattershot didn’t rear his face again. Starscream had successfully avoided him for two orns and he was hoping to keep up that streak.) Starscream wriggled on his tummy, wings flicking ecstatically as he thought about all the mundane things which he now would get to try. He beamed at the setting sun until it was gone, then he shut his window and sat down to preen himself, feeling ridiculously happy that he didn’t have to think about the standards of any stuffy, boring elders.

His door abruptly chimed, an awful sound which he had never heard it make before. He gaped at it, realizing slowly that it meant that someone was on the other side, and stood hesitantly from his berth, wings jittering. Servo shaking slightly, he opened his door, and stared at the shocked looking white grounder who stood on the other side of it.

“Holy Primus! You are a seeker!” exclaimed the grounder, whom Starscream decided from her high, nasally, frankly annoying voice, was a femme. “Hello, welcome to the dorm, I’m Ridgeline.”  
Starscream looked her over warily, “…hello.”

“Oh, you have the cutest little accent!” exclaimed Ridgeline, heightening Starscream’s dislike. “Okay, well, I will just cut right to business, okay? Soo there’s this thing here at the university and in Iacon called ‘quiet time’ and it’s from joor thirty-four to eight, and I noticed the last two mornings that you’ve woken me up with your really loud engine noises.”

Starscream glanced down at his thrusters, then processed exactly how much he immediately hated Ridgeline. “Uh huh, well, there’s this thing called shutting your window at night while you recharge, perhaps you haven’t heard of it.” 

He shut the door, and ignored it as Ridgeline hit the chime at least ten times, apparently angry at him. Resolving to disable the irritating chime in the morning, he snuggled under his thermal blanket and attended to grooming himself some more, purring contentedly as he thought about his success at changing his life for the better. A joor passed and he began to fade softly into recharge, the door chime having long fallen silent when suddenly it rang, jerking him out of slumber. His sensors ticked and he sat up, flaring out his electromagnetic field curiously, then snapping it back flush with his plating sharply as he felt -

His door swung open with a beep and he had the briefest flash of red optics before some inane residue of his sparklinghood drove him to skitter under his berth with a hiss.

“Starscream!” reproached Killjoy sharply. Starscream dealt with his creator trying to reach for him the smart way; he swatted at his servo, then squeaked as his sire somehow caught hold of his wing. Starscream attempted to scratch at him some more, panicking because he had been had, and he didn’t want to lose his new freedom, but Killjoy pulled him out, snapping, “Stop that! Slater, shut the damned door before he wakes up every slagging grounder in the building.”

“Hello, Starscream,” smirked General Slater, shutting the door and winking at him. “I had a few joors free to hack into your internet history - you haven’t rested since you onlined as an adult, have you?”

“Frag off, I’m not going back to Vos, I refuse!” hissed Starscream, attempting to knock Killjoy’s servo free then growling resentfully as his sire pulled him into a very tight hug.

“This is just a phase,” scoffed Killjoy. “You’re not even used to your adult coding yet, Starscream; within a vorn or two you’ll want attention from suitors.”

“I will_ not!”_ squawked Starscream, then he mentally back-pedalled, reviewing what his sire had said.

Killjoy annoyingly held him at arm’s length and looked him over critically with Slater, Starscream intensely glad that it was only them. “Hmm. He looks okay - what’s that on his wing?”

“Paint,” scoffed Slater, grabbing Starscream’s right wing and scratching at it, amending, “cheap paint. Good idea though - we’ll execute it better.”

“It needs to be easily removed,” noted Killjoy, “for when he comes home, when he is done with this nonsense.”

“Yes,” agreed Slater, petting Starscream’s wing where he had scratched it and circling him. “He looks to be in fine condition still, Killjoy, plating’s even nice and clean.”

Killjoy growled, “I don’t want him washing with the hideous grounders in this slaghole. Knowing them they’ll probably give him some disease.”

“Well, let’s go, Your Highnesses, we’ve a lot to do,” decided Slater.

Starscream onlined his vocalizer with a pained squeak, “I’m not going anywhere with you! I’m staying here, I want to study -”

“Obviously, Starscream, you put out no less than fifteen university applications,” snorted Slater. “Your near-desperate desire to gain an education has been well noted - good job, on figuring out a way to acquire one, even if it was partially luck that the dean here is obsessed with racial inclusion. Come along now, my brilliant Star.”

“I will be being much more careful about what I allow you to keep in the future, Starscream,” snapped Killjoy as Slater opened the door. “I do not approve of what you have done here without my permission - you are still my dependent and this behaviour is completely unsuitable for a carrier-coded mech, however Slater has convinced me to let you get this need for an education out of your system based upon how problematic you have been - you _will_ come home for flock functions on your breaks, Starscream! You need to learn about your coding and spend time with kin!”

Amazed, Starscream cut a glance at Slater, but the general wasn’t looking at him, and all he could see was the back of his wings as he locked Starscream’s dorm room door, murmuring, “I will be improving security here, Star. This lock is slag.”

“And you will not fly here by yourself again, you will take a transport to and from Iacon,” hissed Killjoy. “I will have you know that you caused great distress to your carrier and Courageflight, not to mention the rest of our family!”

Starscream doubted that some of their relatives had been at all distressed, but he grimaced, knowing that Killjoy was right about Comet and Courageflight, “I’m sorry.”

“You had better be,” snapped Killjoy, “and we had better figure out your security, because you’re not staying here unprotected. You are a prince of Vos!”

Starscream swallowed, “Thank you, Sire, for allowing me to stay and study.”

“You will be swiftly lonely and return,” scoffed Killjoy as he manhandled Starscream down the hallway to the lift. “This is no more than an _incident_ \- I doubt that you’ll be here more than a metacycle, and don’t you dare even _think_ of buying your own energon! I will not tolerate you drinking the shuttle swill that they sell here!”

Starscream vastly preferred the shuttle swill, having drank it at the spaceport, but he kept silent as Killjoy bodily hauled him outside, Slater a quiet shadow behind them.

“And now, because you live in a building full of grounders, we need to walk a little to avoid onlining the slagheaps,” complained Killjoy condemningly. He made Starscream grip his forearm and Slater escorted them through the darkness, Starscream too nervous about his sire’s mood to catch his benefactor’s optic. He wanted to hug Slater and thank him, but Killjoy was clearly in a bad mood, so he stayed politely quiet, listening as his sire snarled about how he had put the entire palace in an uproar, how poor Courageflight had been distraught. Starscream thought it more likely that Strut had been distraught, but he didn’t intend to say that aloud. For all he knew, knowing his relatives, Strut didn’t even know that he was gone.

Killjoy led them off campus, an exhausting walk in the dark with his system already adapted to Iacon’s different timezone, then he was harried airborne. He was made to fly through the pitch dark cold, relying on sensors and the glow of his sire’s thrusters alone to navigate until they landed on the balcony of a penthouse hotel suite which bloomed with light. Starscream was herded inside, thankfully into the warmth and he immediately saw the Royal Medic, Raindrop and the Royal Metallurgist, Feldspar, waiting for them, along with several trines of royal guards. Thankfully, there was no sign of Mercury, the rest of the royal trine, Lord Daggerpoint, the rest of Starscream’s creators or - Primus forbid - Nightglow.

“Come over here, my prince, I need to check you over,” summoned Raindrop and Starscream sat uncomfortably on one of the apartment’s very posh couches while she ran diagnostics on him, checking his systems then examining his thrusters, finally reporting. “He has remained in good health, Prince Killjoy,”

“Good, enable his null rays,” snapped Slater, Starscream’s wings jerking in hope.

Raindrop pursed her lips and looked at Killjoy, who groaned, rubbing his face, “Do it - I will not have my creation here by himself unable to defend his life from randy grounders.”

“As you wish, Prince Killjoy,” said Raindrop and she applied a sensor blocker then got to work, Starscream desperately trying not to look too happy about it. When she was done, she ran another diagnostic for functionality, then one of the guards fetched a cleaning drone which had been roving around on the floor unobtrusively. They put it on a table, where it was cornered, and Starscream onlined his null rays for the first time, then gleefully shot it, thrilled as it instantly went offline.

“Perfect,” purred Slater, optics meeting Starscream’s smugly.

“This is only temporary,” snapped Killjoy. “As soon as you’re over this phase and safely home again your null rays will be disabled once more, you won’t need them anymore then.”

Starscream thought otherwise, but with Raindrop’s work done the metallurgist Feldspar had grabbed his branded wing and was removing the paint covering the glittering royal insignia. The paint peeled off embarrassingly easily, and Starscream grimaced as a nerve blocker was applied to his sensitive wing, the shot hurting like slag compared to his arms. He couldn’t quite get his right optic to stop twitching as Feldspar updated his brand so that it now declared him an adult lesser prince - and carrier-coded.

Which meant the guards would be extra un-keen on him leaving palace airspace.

The metallurgist skilfully manipulated the colour nanites of his wing for over a joor, and when he was done, Starscream’s splendid wing insignia roared his royal lineage - not even the most uneducated grounder in the universe would be unable to figure out that there was something special about him. Feldspar let his wing recover for another joor (Starscream struggled not to nod off,) then he smoothed on a protective clear coat and after more tedious waiting, a coat of removable paint which had been exactly colour matched to his wing. When he was done, there was absolutely no sign that Starscream was royal, and he relished the sight - in his mind, the paint was never coming off.

“Good, time for some rest,” ordered Killjoy and Starscream passed out on the penthouse’s berth before his sire had even finished curling up beside him. He recharged hard, being exhausted, and when he onlined it was quite late into the next morning, with his sire already up. He could hear him talking to Slater about what he wanted done to Starscream’s room and still hardly able to believe that he was getting to stay, Starscream quietly joined them, taking care to lean against Killjoy - anything to help convince Killjoy that his continued life in Iacon was a good idea. He caught Slater’s knowing glance, but he pretended to be a good little prince, an he was rewarded by Killjoy petting him distractedly.

He slipped out onto the balcony with Slater when the mech moved to takeoff to fly back to the university with a service trine of guards and the general immediately signalled at the guards to leave them. Starscream waited until they were gone, then he lunged and hugged Slater, who hugged him back just as hard, whispering, “You are greater than what they have planned for you, Starscream, I refuse to see you trined to that idiot, Tanzing.”

“Thank you,” murmured Starscream earnestly.

“I will be back when I can to teach you better encryption and self defense,” breathed Slater. “Do not disappoint me, Starscream, and I want to see your report cards. I have managed to convince your sire and the Winglord that this is merely a phase, but we will prove them wrong, yes? And in a few decavorns, I will find you trinemates who are actually worth your calibre - now, be good for your sire while I am gone.”

Starscream watched him takeoff and returned inside, where Killjoy snarkily decided that he needed a soak in an oil bath. Confident that he could keep his sire pleased with him, he faithfully obeyed everything his sire said, grateful that at least there was someone looking out for him who had better ideas than his family did.

He couldn’t wait for university to start.


	27. Desperate Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the terror of his comrades, Wheeljack tests some new technology, Skyfire finally meets some seekers, and Starscream's trine is pressed to do something inspired by IDW's Waspinator with Metroplex. (Heey Metroplex, why aren't you in this story?)

Skyfire couldn’t help feeling dubious. Before them in one of the_ Ark’s_ rock entombed hangars was a ring of steel like a grounder’s wheel rim. The thing was taller than Skyfire was and it looked perfectly solid, but Skyfire had no idea how Wheeljack expected the thing to be functional, or do what he claimed that it did. Beside him, Ratchet seemed torn between impatience to get underway and wanting to back away hurriedly, while Perceptor was somewhat frantically checking the thing over with a peeved look on his face. The thing had drawn a crowd of other Autobots too, but quite tellingly, none of them were brave enough to do more than peer hopefully around the hangar entrance doors. Some of them looked quite terrified.

“It’s gonna work,” insisted Wheeljack. “It’s my best invention.”

“What did you say that it was called again?” asked Skyfire skeptically,

“It’s a groundbridge,” said Wheeljack, a bit weakly. “It’s supposed to be like a smaller, local version of a spacebridge like what the Decepticons have.”

“Ah,” said Skyfire. Perceptor had taught him about the Decepticon spacebridge - the thing sounded downright miraculous, and except for the evidence photo of the Rainmaker seeker, as well as the new Decepticon threat in the intimidating sounding Predacons, he wouldn’t have believed that it was a real thing. Honestly, he still didn’t, except for how adamant the Autobots all seemed to be about the idea that the Decepticons in question hadn’t been present previously on Earth.

“Fire it up already! We’re dyin’ of suspense over here!” yelled a miscellaneous Autobot from the crowd.

“Autobots, stay back, this is a matter of life and death for one of our brethren,” rumbled Optimus Prime with a glare above his battle mask. (Skyfire couldn’t help but notice how Prime was standing as far away from the groundbridge as he possibly could too, and how Prowl wasn’t even in the hangar with them, watching from a room above with a petrified looking Red Alert.) Bumblebee and Bluestreak, standing beside Skyfire, were both looking incredibly apprehensive, like they were regretting volunteering coming along as security detail.

“Only for a seeker! It’s just Dogfight!” retorted a familiar sounding voice.

“Cliffjumper, you will report to the brig,” declared Optimus Prime. “Such glyphs against one of our own will not be tolerated. Dogfight’s life is in great peril.”

“Yeah, because you didn’t kill fragging Screamer when you had the chance!” snapped Sideswipe.

“That is enough!” snapped Optimus Prime and fearing a riot, Skyfire looked hopefully at Wheeljack, praying that the mech had a clue, that he wasn’t about to blast them sky high.

“Best get going, Wheeljack, otherwise we’ll be retrieving a corpse rather than a comrade,” said Ratchet quietly. Wheeljack nodded, then turned to his control panel, causing their audience to flinch and fall dreadfully silent. There was an alarming humming rumble, an eerie ring, then suddenly plasmatic light formed within the ring, becoming a pool of shining, shimmering… stuff. (Skyfire had no idea what to call it, but it certainly did look quite a lot like a science fiction variety of portal.)

“See? Didn’t explode,” declared Wheeljack proudly.

“Don’t jinx it, mech!” yelped one of their onlookers. Glancing back, Skyfire saw that some of them seemed to be attempting to duck and cover.

“It’s not going to explode!” huffed Wheeljack at them.

“Let’s go then, Skyfire, Bumblebee, Bluestreak,” grunted Ratchet, and he took a step towards the portal, at which several Autobots shrieked.

“No! Make the civvy go through first!”

“Y’don’t haveta die, Ratchet! Let the weird seeker-liker go!”

“Yeah, maybe he’ll get shot at and finally read his manifesto then join us -”

Skyfire didn’t hear the rest of this slag, because he was stepping scowling into the terrible plasma stuff, instantly cycling his optics in shock as he very abruptly found himself standing in a cold, rocky, very scrubby desert which was completely different from the one where he had met Starscream. It was night time, and the flood of stars overhead was nearly as spectacular as anything which could be seen from beyond the planet’s atmosphere. It was so glorious that he couldn’t help staring up for a klik, until Ratchet’s impatient snap reminded him that they weren’t here for fun, but to heed the frantic distress call of an Autobot seeker. He had been working in the lab on his abysmal jet grade when Ratchet had rushed in, demanding of Wheeljack whether his ‘device’ was ready for a test run, and the moment that Ratchet had said that a seeker was hurt, Skyfire had wanted to do anything that he could to help.

Even if it wasn’t his seeker.

“Fastcut, Greenflit!” Ratchet was shouting. “Where are you?!” The medic lowered his voice as Skyfire caught up with him, growling, “Wheeljack better not have transported us to the wrong place.”

Skyfire was about to assure him that he was sure that that wasn’t the case (no matter how probable it seemed,) when there was a frantic, very seeker-like trill. Ratchet swore in relief and broke into a run, Skyfire hurrying after him as quickly as his spark would allow, Bluestreak and Bumblebee thundering past him. Red optics flashed in the darkness and he had the impression of seeker wings, then he suddenly saw something glinting in the distance which Ratchet charged towards, shouting, “Is he conscious?!”

“No! He’s completely out of it, we’re worried that he’s lost too much line energon!” exclaimed a beautiful femme voice in Neocybex with a Vosian accent. Skyfire looked around for the source of it and almost stumbled at the sight of a clearly badly injured seeker which was laying facedown in a pool of its own line energon. 

“I’m going to do what I can, Greenflit; now, what happened?” demanded Ratchet, swiftly falling to his knees beside the downed seeker, Skyfire feeling sick to his stomach as he saw the deep slash marks riddling what Skyfire could see of the mech’s plating. There was so much energon all over him that Skyfire had no idea what colour the poor mech was supposed to be, and he had been covered in a thermal blanket.

“W-we encountered the missing Con seekers,” said Greenflit, hardly more than a silhouette with crimson gleaming optics and nervously flitting wings in the poor light. Skyfire could not see where Greenflit’s other mate Fastcut was, but he could hear both of their vents working intensely hard - the sensitive mecha were clearly in extreme distress. Bumblebee and Bluestreak circled the area, guns at the ready, but Skyfire couldn’t see or hear anyone else nearby. They were alone, except for the wind, which was almost unheard over the distraught sounds of Dogfight’s trinemates.

“And?” asked Ratchet, removing Dogfight’s blanket at which Skyfire had to cover his mouth to keep from purging and Ratchet swore.

“Slagging Pit! That’s bad, isn’t it Ratch?!” yelped Bluestreak. “Bumblebee, that’s nasty! Do you see? Do you see?”

“Yeah, I see, Blue, concentrate on guarding our perimeter,” ordered Bumblebee. “Don’t distract Ratchet.”

“Th-they attacked you?!” spluttered Skyfire to Greenflit and Fastcut, gaping at the savaged stump of what had been Dogfight’s left wing, his own still healing wing twinging hard in sympathy. He looked around, but he couldn’t see the rest of the wing - all he could see was a great deal of Dogfight’s spilled life fluid instead.

“No!” hissed Fastcut, who seemed to also be a femme. “Dogfight attacked Starscream and the Winglord’s mate Skywarp responded accordingly. Dogfight was the offender!”

“Yeah, he was an idiot,” agreed Greenflit frantically as Skyfire gaped at them, his spark flickering as he frantically wondered whether it was alright to ask if his amica was alright. “Can you save him, Ratchet?! I don’t know what we’ll do without him! We love him so much and -”

“Greenie! Let the grounder concentrate!” hissed Fastcut in nervous Vosian.

“Oh! S-sorry, Fastcut, you’re right -” squeaked Greenflit, also in Vosian.

“What? Dogfight attacked Starscream? But we’re not supposed to do that! We’re supposed to leave him and his trine alone, Optimus said -” exclaimed Bluestreak.

“Bluestreak, do me a favour and see if you can find Dogfight’s missing wing,” snapped Ratchet.

“Oh, yeah, of course!” yelped Bluestreak, immediately sprinting off into the darkness with his gun above his head.

“Don’t worry, we’re alone,” shivered Greenflit in Neocybex. “They left just before we called for help.”

“Bluestreak isn’t going to find Dogfight’s wing,” whimpered Fastcut. “Skywarp took it, we saw him.” She sobbed in Vosian, “Never thought we’d see another seeker take a wing as a trophy but now it’s happened.”

“Frag,” snapped Ratchet, his fingers flying over Dogfight’s wing stub, “we’re going to have to get it back from them then or Dogfight’s never going to fly again.”

“Did you say that Dogfight attacked Starscream? He was actually here?” asked Skyfire in Vosian, unable to stand it anymore.

Both seekers went dead silent, a yelling quiet settling which was interrupted by Ratchet snarling, “Skyfire, I need your help here!”

Skyfire hastily aided the medic, helping him to cauterize the bleeding lines in the tattered wing stub, Ratchet cutting into it to block off some of them. To Skyfire’s great relief somehow they managed to get the stump to stop bleeding, but beneath all the splattered energon and with the sun rising, Dogfight wasn’t looking good. Neither were his trinemates, who were huddled together in a whimpering ball, watching from a few strides away, their plating flush. Bluestreak was presumably still running around the desert looking in vain for Dogfight’s wing and Skyfire wondered why nobody had saw fit to recall him. Bumblebee was standing on a rise nearby watching their surroundings, a stiff and cold looking sentinel. As the sun lit up the landscape, Skyfire saw how beautiful it was - and exactly why seekers might choose to live in what had at first seemed to be a flat landscape. The place was utterly inhospitable to ground frame alt modes - if Skyfire were to consider seekers as a species of study, he would have called it nearly ideal habitat for them.

For any flight frame, really.

“There, I’ve got him somewhat stable, but he needs to be properly hospitalized if he’s going to make it through this orn,” said Ratchet, checking the bag of intravenous low grade energon which he had hung from Skyfire’s wing. Fastcut and Greenflit barely perked up, their pretty faces intensely worried as they watched what was happening, their wings barely moving, “We’ve patched up the leaks, so he’s holding his line energon again which makes him fine for the moment. What happened with Starscream?”

“Dogfight wanted revenge, for our fallen,” said Greenflit weakly. “He saw the Winglord and just… went for him. The Rainmakers were there - couldn’t confirm their brands because we were too horrified by what Dogfight was doing but the Winglord wasn’t wearing any; neither was Skywarp. Didn’t see Thundercracker at close enough range, but I imagine that he was the same. We… we didn’t know what to do! Skywarp was perfectly within his rights to protect his mate and his litter, never mind the orders!”

“I didn’t want to attack a sire in a creator state,” admitted Fastcut unhappily. “His newsparks need him, and we haven’t had any newsparks in so long, doesn’t matter who they belong to.”

“And… and Acid Storm - he was there - he said that…” Greenflit seemed to think hard for a klik, her optics widening, “he said that they were neutral, but if we attacked them again, it’d be seen as an act of war.”

_Neutral. No Decepticon wing brands._ Skyfire’s spark felt weaker than usual - his plan was… working? 

“We need more confirmation than that,” grimaced Ratchet. He stood up and waved at Bumblebee, “Bumblebee! Where the Pit is Bluestreak? Do you see him?”

“No, is Dogfight okay to go back?” shouted Bumblebee.

“Yes! I’ll comm Wheeljack and the _Ark_ if you wrangle Blue in!” yelled Ratchet. Bumblebee made an affirmative gesture and Skyfire watched as Ratchet turned away, clearly speaking on his comm. Skyfire looked back at the two seekers and then down at Dogfight, at the brutal claw marks which he had just spent joors helping Ratchet weld closed.

“I’m sorry about your trinemate getting hurt,” said Skyfire in Vosian.

The seekers stiffened, their wings twitching up in alarm, Fastcut finally growling, “Don’t speak our language, shuttle, it’s supposed to be ours.”

“I learned it from Starscream,” said Skyfire anyway. “Why don’t you want me speaking Vosian?”

“Nobody speaks Vosian but us, in the Autobots,” snapped Fastcut, her motion of pulling Greenflit closer to her side confirming Skyfire’s impression that she was the sire-coded member of the pair. Fastcut bared her denta and hissed, “Sounds wrong coming from non-seeker lips.”

“I’m sorry, but I actually feel more comfortable speaking this than Neocybex, and -” Skyfire tried to explain.

“We don’t care what makes you feel comfortable, shuttle!” spat Fastcut. “You’re not one of us! You’re just some freak who couldn’t fly straight in a storm and somehow used to know the Winglord!”

“He’s my best friend -” attempted Skyfire.

“Shut up, we’re ignoring you,” said Fastcut, which to Skyfire’s distress, was exactly what the duo did. It took over a groon for Bluestreak to return, since he had wandered rather far in his attempt to find Dogfight’s missing wing, but he was just in time for the groundbridge to take them back to the _Ark._ Knowing that Starscream was possibly nearby, Skyfire ached to stay where he was in the desert in the hopes of encountering him but he found himself enlisted to carry Dogfight through the portal then to the medical bay. There was no crowd waiting for them when they returned - just the Prime, Ironhide, Prowl, Jazz, Wheeljack and Perceptor, who had seemingly all concluded that the groundbridge was probably safe. 

“Ratchet, what happened?” asked Optimus Prime as Ratchet led Skyfire briskly past him.

“Dogfight disobeyed your order regarding Starscream and tried to attack him; Skywarp reacted accordingly,” snapped Ratchet.

“Was Starscream hurt?” asked Optimus Prime urgently, asking Skyfire’s very question.

“I don’t know,” said Ratchet, glancing back at Dogfight’s trinemates.

“That we saw… Dogfight never touched Starscream, he was too fast,” said Greenflit unhappily. “It was pretty close though, I don’t think the Winglord was as quick as he usually is. Starscream didn’t try to defend himself, he just flew.”

Skyfire ex-vented in relief - Starscream and his newsparks were probably okay.

“Carrier-coding will prevent him from entering situations which might harm him or his young,” said Ratchet. “Skywarp’s reaction was textpad as well, given the circumstances. Thundercracker likely went to secure Starscream while Skywarp was dealing with Dogfight.”

“That’s exactly what happened, sir,” confirmed Greenflit as they turned into the medical bay, where First Aid and Hoist already had a bed ready. “Optimus Prime, sir, Acid Storm told us that they were neutral, and said that if we attacked them again they would consider it an act of war.”

Looks of surprise washed through all the command staff, Prowl scowling, “And their sigils?”

“Starscream and Skywarp didn’t have them anymore. Didn’t get to see any of the other seekers well enough to confirm,” said Greenflit. She shivered, looking purely disturbed as she added, “Skywarp took Dogfight’s wing.”

“Which I need back if Dogfight is ever going to fly again,” growled Ratchet. “Prime, if you could work on that, I’d be grateful, especially if you did your best not to stress my other seeker patient. Right now, I need to finish saving Dogfight from his stupid decision to attack a gravid carrier.”

“We will discuss,” promised Optimus Prime. He seemed pitying as he looked at Greenflit and Fastcut, “Your trinemate is very important to us and we will do our best to retrieve his missing appendage.”

“Thank you,” said Greenflit, but Fastcut was scowling in a way which said to Skyfire that the seekers didn’t trust the Prime to really do anything. He handed Dogfight’s drip to Hoist and clenched his fists against his thighs, angry that so much Functionism still existed, no matter what Wheeljack had said. The two seekers were gently shooed out the door behind the command staff by Ratchet and Skyfire excused himself as soon as he could, hurrying for the lab.

If he could finish formulating his so far abysmal jet grade into something that wasn’t horrible, and make something that worked nutritionally, maybe they could barter it for Dogfight’s wing.

He didn’t notice a glint of red in the air vent above him.

* * *

The swiftly dwindling supply of low grade in Thundercracker’s subspace and the nixing of his siring protocols saw him launching into the air, taking off in the local night to avoid human or Autobot detection. There still existed the stronger-than-usual urge to protect Starscream because he was sparked, but stronger was the need to keep him fed. Although it made Skywarp fidget, torn between them, Thundercracker left him behind to look after Starscream, confident (especially after his assault on Dogfight,) that Starscream would be safe so long as he was with Skywarp. Without Starscream slowing him down (which was an obscene concept,) Thundercracker could fly his full speed and thus he tore across the sky to what he remembered being a hidden Decepticon outpost.

An air strike had hit it several planetary cycles before, but Thundercracker was hopeful that amongst the rubble there might still be energon or something else useful to find. Landing at the spot without any sign of hostiles, he nervously scanned his surroundings, but nothing caught on his radar. The base was set into the side of a hill in the middle of nowhere, a hill which had been pretty much cratered when the shocking firepower of the pesky humans had been turned upon it. Faint radiation was present, but it was nothing to a Cybertronian, and with Hotlink on guard, Thundercracker started to dig through the remains of the base with Sunstorm and Bitstream. Immediately it seemed as though pretty much everything of interest was gone, either destroyed or removed, but Thundercracker banked hard on the notion that he was a great deal stronger than a puny human.

Shifting aside a large slab of concrete, Thundercracker and Bitstream managed to scrape out a hole; below was looked like a section of intact control centre.

“Hotlink, we’re in!” hissed Bitstream. “TC’s hunch was a good one!”

“That’s great, Bit!” called Hotlink.

“Collect what you need, Bitstream,” urged Thundercracker, and he stayed by the entrance, making certain that it didn’t collapse while the other blue seeker slipped into the hole with Sunstorm to salvage as much of the Decepticon technology as possible. A couple of groons later the pair scrambled back out, the place stripped of tech, and Thundercracker slipped in with Hotlink, Bitstream taking up his trineleader’s sentry position while Sunstorm stayed just outside. Within, the place was barren, dusty outlines showing where the computer consoles and datapads had been. Finding a fuel supply closet which he remembered, Thundercracker broke it open and looked inside, hopeful to find something but what small amount of fuel he did find in a cracked case was long stale. His spark flickered at the sight of it - there was no way that he could feed it to Starscream.

“Is it viable, Thundercracker?” asked Hotlink softly.

Wingtips shaking, Thundercracker showed him, the other seeker recoiling at the sight of the contaminated fuel. Dust and fragments of building material had mixed it into a caustic sludge which even a healthy seeker would have had trouble with.

“Better not,” ex-vented Hotlink. “I’m sorry, sir. At least we scored tech for our proper base now - we’ll find an Autobot fuel cache to raid, maybe. Make it look like it was the Decepticons.”

Thundercracker pretended to agree with him, but inside his insides were roiling at the awful prospect of having to give Starscream petroleum again. Feeding his sparked mate substandard fuel like low grade was bad enough, but being unable to even offer his mate that was disturbing. There was a reason why carriers had been fed only the best possible fuel back in Vos - give them poor fuel, and their newsparks might not develop properly. This feeling pinged even worse as they landed back at their base a few joors later after flying an interference pattern to confuse anyone who might be watching. Stepping into the cavern where Starscream was, Thundercracker saw a tarp covered lump instead of proud white wings. The cave was ringingly silent of Starscream’s voice, and it was only Skywarp’s calm which convinced Thundercracker that nothing was wrong, that Starscream was merely recharging.

“How’d it go, TC?” whispered Skywarp, whose end of the bond clambered with relief, and hope which Thundercracker now had to dash.

“No energon, but we scored tech,” sighed Thundercracker.

“Oh,” said Skywarp, his gaze falling on Starscream. “TC… he’s not feeling well.”

Thundercracker knew; he could feel that Starscream’s sleep was not as content as it should have been. Even with the thermal blanket he was slightly cold, plus his fuel tank wouldn’t stop bothering him even though Skywarp had fed him just a joor previous.

“We only have one cube left,” said Thundercracker hollowly.

“Then… we have to do the thing you mentioned,” said Skywarp softly. “We can say… we were hurt or something. Clumsy.”

“Yeah,” said Thundercracker, servos shaking as he drew out Starscream’s surgical kit.

“It’s only temporary right? You said it was only temporary,” said Skywarp, painful with hope.

“Until we get proper energon,” swallowed Thundercracker. _He can’t know, he’ll refuse it._

_Who wouldn’t? But if you’re right and he can’t process petroleum anymore…_ sighed Skywarp reaching for the surgical kit and the empty cube which Thundercracker had just pulled out.

_ I am right and no, I’m doing it,_ snapped Thundercracker, jerking it back. _He knows that I was just on a mission - I have an excuse to be hurt. We’ll say that I got my plating snagged on something, he won’t suspect a thing._

_ I’m_ Skywarp,_ TC, I have an excuse to be hurt too,_ said Skywarp, glaring at him. After a long klik, Thundercracker conceded and Skywarp took the supplies, confirming, _Just a little knick on the leg or arm, right?_

_ Not wing. Definitely not wing,_ grimaced Thundercracker. He lifted a servo, trying to reach for the supplies back, whining, _I’d hoped it to just be me…_

_ No. They’re_ our _newsparks and he’s our trinemate, we do this slag together, just like we sparked him and trined him together,_ said Skywarp stubbornly and with that he turned on heel, leaving Thundercracker feeling distinctly sick beside Starscream, who was stirring at the anxiety in their fields, vaguely wondering what was wrong.

“Shh, Star, it’s okay, love,” whispered Thundercracker, reaching under the blanket to rub his wings soothingly. “Everything’s alright; I’m back.”

Starscream’s optics onlined a sliver, the carrier staring up at him hazily, so Thundercracker nuzzled him, trying to encourage him to relax. “It’s okay Star, everything’s okay.”

“Where’s… Warp?” asked Starscream softly. The constant sharp pain in his fuel tank spiked as he twisted slightly to look at Thundercracker better.

“He went outside; since I’m back he wanted to feel the wind a bit,” said Thundercracker, slinking a servo under Starscream’s blanket to rub his chest. Starscream, still out of it and apparently feeling hormonal despite being in what felt like agony to Thundercracker, purred at his caress, then started slipping back into prescribed slumber. Thundercracker’s vents hitched - it always was strange to him how bizarrely high his royal mate’s pain tolerance was. Skywarp barely had to stub a pede and he was usually squealing, which made what he had just volunteered even more profound. Thundercracker had seen Starscream have his wingtip blown off by Megatron’s fusion canon and still ignore it.

Considering the horrific injuries that Starscream had suffered over the course of the war, it was really kind of miraculous that he was fertile still.

_“WINGLORD!”_ cried Nacelle suddenly, Thundercracker whirling onto his pedes with a snarl which drew Nacelle up short as he came dashing in. At Thundercracker’s feet, Starscream sat up reluctantly, blinking tiredly and peered at the horribly loud Nacelle, who took advantage of the exhausted carrier’s attention to cry, “We just saw Autobots! Grounders! They’re moving around the area where Dogfight was taken down!”

“How the _frag_ did they get there?” snarled Starscream, lurching upright and shaking off his blanket as if suddenly completely oblivious to all physical discomfort.

“They certainly didn’t use their alt modes, sir,” said Nacelle.

“BITSTREAM!” shrieked Starscream, at which Bitstream, who had been about to curl up with Hotlink (Sunstorm was at his ridiculous homemade alter to Primus again,) jerked up with an unattractive grunt. Starscream glared murder at him, “Why didn’t you report a massive aft cargo plane landing nearby?”

“Because none have, sir,” said Bitstream, powering on his datapad and checking his hacked connections to human satellites in the vicinity.

“Then why do we have ground frame Autoglitches on our territory?” demanded Starscream haughtily.

“Oh,” said Bitstream, which was how Thundercracker found himself racing after a grotesquely determined Starscream across the desert, the carrier-seeker refusing to listen to his arguments concerning why he should return to his nap. In their haste, they almost surprised Skywarp at what he was doing, but thankfully Starscream didn’t see anything, and he seemed afraid of being snagged by their mate, because all he did was bolt past with a defiant squeak. Thundercracker sprinted after him, bewildered at how a seeker who was in so much agony and feeling so miserable could still move so slagging fast. Eventually Starscream did slow down, but only so that he could crouch behind cover, and Thundercracker hurriedly joined him, carefully putting his body between his mate’s and anything behind them as well as conceal Starscream’s bright frame from the sky. Starscream seemed to fight off nausea for a breem, then he finally settled, shivering slightly against Thundercracker despite the desert heat as they peered at the distinct, distant form of -

“It’s Optimus-fragging-_Prime,”_ hissed Starscream, incensed the way that only he was capable of. “How the frag did he get here without his pesky humans’ help?”

Since Starscream was talking to himself, Thundercracker let him stare hatefully at the Prime without comment and tried to see if he could pick out any other Autobots. Instead, something drew his attention upwards, and hovering far above them, hardly more than a speck, was Buzzsaw.

The spy was watching them and the only reason Starscream wasn’t shrieking at Thundercracker to shoot him was because he was preoccupied with Prime - who was accompanied by Prowl, it turned out.

The sane thing was to shoot. The intelligent thing to do was shoot.

But Thundercracker didn’t shoot - it seemed that several hundred thousand centravorns of being comrades with the casseticon were harder to forget than he had thought. By the time he looked back after Skywarp distractingly showed up, Buzzsaw was gone, ending any chance to follow orders.


	28. Skyfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Starscream and Skyfire meet at last! Also, Killjoy gives some sage dating advice.

General Slater had turned Starscream’s dorm room into a veritable fortress - somehow he had replaced the door with a blast-proof slab which was keyed to Starscream’s spark frequency, and which wouldn’t unlock unless his key card - a new one, provided by Slater - was also on his person. Slater had also changed the glass in Starscream’s window to block incendiary ordnance, reinforced the relevant walls somehow, and Starscream’s uncomfortable chair had been replaced with a proper one designed for seekers. If that wasn’t enough, Slater had also left him a cache of his favourite treats and engex, just in case Starscream didn’t already think he was the best seeker in Vos. In contrast, Killjoy had left him a supply of carrier-grade jet grade and a long lecture concerning why he should care about drinking the slag, as well as a threat that he’d know if Starscream didn’t somehow.

“I want you to call as soon as you’re ready to come home, Star,” growled Killjoy, as if he suddenly doubted Starscream’s competence as a student based solely upon his adult coding. He handed Starscream a sheaf of flimsi, “From your carrier. Read it. Now, you will remember to stay away from the grounders, and remember that they are your enemies. If any of them try to come onto you, you will shoot them in the face and fly straight home to the palace immediately; we will handle any legal backlash from you defending yourself. Try not to scratch any idiots, non-seekers have no appreciation or comprehension for claws.”

He seized Starscream in a very one-sided hug, crushing him against his cockpit, growling, “And you will remember that I will not tolerate you getting sparked by non-seekers. No interface.”

Starscream attempted to splutter that he had no interest in interface with anyone, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but Killjoy was already storming out his door. General Slater caught his eye, flicked his wings in a salute and strode after Killjoy, singing, “Do us proud, brilliant Star.”

They disappeared into the elevator and Starscream ran back into his room to look out through his window, sliding it open to watch as Killjoy and Slater rejoined their guards, then took off, thrusters roaring. Windows all over the courtyard burst open and Starscream hastily closed his, unable to stop smiling as he contemplated his incredible fortune. As soon as he had decided that the royal contingent was far enough away, he stashed Comet’s sparkfelt note (which was her expressing her dearest hope that he would get the itch to go to university out of his system swiftly so that he could return to helping her with his siblings,) and charged outside into the sunshine for a victory lap around the city. 

* * *

“Hey, Seeker.”

Starscream glanced up from his work - it was his third metacycle into his classes and life in Iacon was feeling quite a bit less fun than it had when he had moved there. In his classes, he was constantly being ignored by his classmates, who uniformly acted like they thought that he was a loaded gun. If they weren’t complaining loudly together about his null rays, they were making nasty comments regarding how he would be better suited to some army or mercenary work, an assumption which made him laugh the first time that he heard it, but which became gradually more unpleasant the longer that it went on. If they weren’t asking him if he had ever killed someone (like that was even a thing,) they were complaining about how noisy his thrusters were (then laughing their afts off when one of their hideous classmates gunned theirs.) The professors were less unpleasant, but they were largely useless, rarely doing anything to help him and often ignoring him when he put his servo up to signal that he had an answer.

And yet, despite that, he was succeeding - he had the best grades in his vorn.

“Hey, are you deaf from how noisy your engine is?”

Starscream looked up coldly from his datapad to see that it was Ridgeline again. He cut a sneer, “No, I’m ignoring you.”

Ridgeline scowled, “You’re so rude, Seeker, all you care about is yourself, you’re always taking off at like eight in the morning and waking everyone in the building up -”

Starscream subspaced his datapad and stood, onlining his thrusters, “Whoops, seems I have somewhere to be. Goodbye, Ridgeline.”

He flew to the nearest roof, soared over its crest, and landed on its edge, where he had found that he could usually continue studying in peace. None of the grounders could reach him up where he was, and unless they wanted to yell at him from the courtyard below, there was no way for them to pester him. Starscream drew out his datapad again and checked his schedule, grimacing as he saw that his next class was chemistry - perfect, his least favourite, because nobody wanted to partner with him. He scowled; chemistry might have actually have been fun if he had somebody to share the workload with, but instead he was constantly staying after class in order to keep up. Still, his grade was very good despite his handicap and Starscream remained determined to persevere. If only in his report cards, his professors praised his focus.

“Seeker! Primus, you’re so selfish! Why are you always hiding on roofs?” Ridgeline was still shouting at him, so he glared at his datapad, attempting to audially cut her out. Glancing over the edge of the roof, he could see her stamping her pede, other students walking past staring at her, making him smirk. It took over a bream, but eventually she tired of him ignoring her and left, Starscream slipping down off of the roof as soon as he thought that the coast was clear. The bell signalling the class change rang and he hurried to his chemistry class, grimacing as he took his seat at the very back, where he didn’t have to worry about the one classmate he had who had once spent an entire period staring rather lecherously at his wings.

“Hello, Starscream,” greeted Professor Spinbrake cheerily as he came in. Starscream smiled back, because Spinbrake was in truth one of his better teachers and he smirked when the professor didn’t greet Ridgeline.

“Professor Spinbrake, why do you only greet the seeker?” demanded Ridgeline.

“Because Starscream actually does his work,” said Professor Spinbrake, to guffawing laughter from the rest of their classmates who were filing in. “And I’d really appreciate it if you considered calling him by his _designation,_ he’s not a wild turbofox, Ridgeline.”

“If Ridgeline likes it I can call her ‘truck’ for the rest of our existence,” smirked Starscream.

“And doubtless she would deserve it, but I would appreciate you continuing in your current form, Starscream,” said Professor Spinbrake kindly.

“Professor Spinbrake, why did they even let him in? He’s a flight frame, he’s -” spluttered Ridgeline angrily.

“Full marks for noticing that he’s a flight frame, Ridgeline,” interrupted Professor Spinbrake. “I wonder, how did you notice that, when you failed to notice what chemicals you were mixing yesterorn? I notice that your plating is still stained.”

Ridgeline, to Starscream’s delight, spluttered and went silent. Grinning, Starscream called up his notes on his datapad and onlined his textpad in preparation as everyone else slowly settled into their seats. Spinbrake had just turned on the holoprojector when there was a knock on the door, and he went to get it, calling, “Hold on a klik, class, I think that’s our new transfer student. I was informed in advance that he was going to be a touch late because he had to go through admissions this morning.”

“Who is he going to sit with? The only station open is with Starscream!” scowled Ridgeline in a not-whisper. Starscream silently fantasized about what her face might look like if he ‘accidentally’ set off one of his null rays in her general direction some dark night.

“Seating won’t be a problem, Ridgeline,” said Professor Spinbrake, stepping back inside and smiling as the biggest flight frame that Starscream had ever seen lumbered into the room behind him. Starscream’s wings jerked in alarm and the entire class stared as Professor Spinbrake declared, “This is Skyfire, he just transferred in from the University of Polyhex, he wanted to study closer to his family.”

“Hi,” fidgeted Skyfire, Starscream gaping at his infuriatingly neutral wings, which were giving nothing away - it was like the thing didn’t know cant, which bewildered Starscream completely, because even _Praxians_ understood cant to some degree - and they didn’t even have real wings.

“Skyfire, come this way, you’ll be partnered with Starscream,” ordered Professor Spinbrake, leading Skyfire to the empty chair beside Starscream. Professor Spinbrake smiled at Starscream, “There, you’re no longer alone, Starscream, Skyfire will be your partner.”

“I-I will?” squeaked the shuttle, his electromagnetic field extremely nervous. 

“Yes, indeed; Starscream doesn’t bite. Take a klik to get yourself settled, then we’ll start,” declared Spinbrake, and they were left staring at each other. The shuttle was mostly white, but he had touches of blue and red, and he looked like an absolute oaf, not that Starscream spared his face much attention, still distracted by his uninformative wings.

“Um,” said Skyfire awkwardly. “I-I’m gonna sit now.”

“Okay,” said Starscream, and the shuttle plonked his enormous aft into his chair, which groaned under his weight, making Starscream struggle not to snort.

“Uh, what accent is that?” asked Skyfire hesitantly.

“Vosian,” said Starscream.

“Oh… oh, of course, you‘re a… well, you’re a seeker,” said Skyfire awkwardly, drawing out his datapad and placing it on the table. “I… I don’t have a cool accent, I was born here, in Iacon.”

Starscream hummed in disinterest and resumed staring at the shuttle’s wings, disconcerted.

“I guess… I guess we’re going to work together, so I’m Skyfire - Skyfire of Iacon,” said Skyfire.

“You just said that,” noted Starscream.

“Oh.”

“I’m Starscream,” said Starscream, tearing his gaze away from his wings and back to his textpad. “You any good at chemistry?”

“I’m pretty good,” said Skyfire with a shaky smile. “You?”

“I have the best mark in this class,” huffed Starscream. He side-eyed their classmates, Ridgeline staring at them as if enraptured. He covered his mouth so that she couldn’t see his lips move, “Not that I have any competition.”

Skyfire’s smile grew wider, and more confident, “Maybe… maybe I’ll give you some competition then. Like I said, I’m pretty good.”

“Good, because I don’t tolerate incompetence,” Starscream informed him loftily.

“I’m definitely not that,” grinned Skyfire, his wings finally lifting, which felt monumentous after how still they had been. Starscream stared at them accordingly again and Skyfire frowned, “Why do you keep looking at my wings?”

“Nothing,” said Starscream, looking away, and it took the entire class for him to convince his optics to stop ogling the shuttle’s bizarre wings. By the time the class was over, however, Skyfire had proven himself more than competent, and somehow they left the room together without Starscream noticing. Outside it was a beautiful clear day still, and Starscream immediately itched to fly, his wing tips perking higher as he felt the breeze.

“Hey,” said Skyfire as they reached a courtyard. “You wanna… I dunno, study together? I do better if I have someone to review notes with, and, um, nobody else I’ve met here so far really seems like the type.”

“They’re racist slagheaps,” hummed Starscream, deciding, “yeah. S’long as you aren’t weird.”

“I’m not weird,” promised Skyfire. “Wanna fly with me to the spaceport? It’s more fun than flying alone. Have you been there?”

“Once,” said Starscream, and perhaps he actually was lonely, because he found himself agreeing, then flying with the shuttle, who was amazingly slow in the air, yet who flew with impressive grace despite his lack of speed.

“So did you just move here?” asked Skyfire. They were flying slow enough that comms weren’t needed, which would have been almost impossible with pretty much any seeker.

“Yeah, when semester started,” said Starscream. “I wanted to study abroad.”

“I did that too for a bit, but I missed home too much,” said Skyfire. “You must be lonely, there’s not really many seekers here in Vos.”

“It’s not that bad,” lied Starscream, yet still he followed Skyfire to the only café in the entire city which served jet grade, a place in the spaceport run by another shuttle named Hangtime. They found a table and sipped their drinks while they studied, Skyfire apparently waiting for his creators to show up, since they had promised to meet him there.

“They both work as transport shuttles, what do your creators do?” asked Skyfire curiously as they finished their chemistry homework.

Starscream had to think for a klik, wondering what he could say which wouldn’t give him away. Nobody at the university knew yet who he was - not even Flashpoint or admissions. They didn’t know that he hadn’t registered under his full, proper and legal Vosian name. He smiled, “My one sire is a professor at the University of Vos, my other sire is a soldier, and my carrier just stays home.”

Skyfire almost dropped his drink, “W-what? You have two sires?”

Starscream stared at him, wondering why this was a surprise, and he felt colour prickle in his cheeks, “I’m a seeker, Skyfire, seekers trine.”

“So you have two sires?” spluttered Skyfire.

“You don’t?” asked Starscream, even though he knew perfectly well that Skyfire didn’t, because he wasn’t Seeker.

“No, just the one,” said Skyfire, staring at him. He shook himself, “Sorry… I guess I don’t know much about seekers.”

Perfect. “We’re not very interesting,” dismissed Starscream. “Tell me more about what your creators do?”

What Skyfire’s creators did was genuinely uninteresting, but Skyfire seemed happy enough to talk about it, and that was all that mattered. When Starscream returned to his dorm room that night he felt better than he had in decaorns. He had taken care to leave before Skyfire’s creators could show up, thinking it better if they didn’t meet him in case they were the type to dislike seekers, and as he laid down to recharge he wondered how Skyfire’s conversation with them had gone. The next orn, he fully expected Skyfire to disdain him like everyone else at the university had, but Skyfire was waiting for him exactly where he had said that he would be. After classes were over they went to the spaceport to study again, and Starscream tentatively wondered whether he had found a friend.

“Hey Carrier!” called Skyfire excitedly when a blue and grey shuttle walked up, beaming.

“Hey Skyfire, is this your new friend?” asked the shuttle femme kindly. She was even bigger than her creation was.

“Yeah, this is Starscream, he’s from Vos,” grinned Skyfire. “Starscream, this is my carrier, Bluenose.”

“Hello, Bluenose,” said Starscream, straightening in his seat. “Skyfire tells me that you work transport?”

The shuttle femme beamed, and that was how Starscream got invited over for dinner, where he met Skyfire’s sire, Hardwing, who was polite but wary but Starscream didn’t give a slag, because Bluenose seemed to genuinely like him. The next orn was the same, while the orn after Skyfire came over to Starscream’s dorm room to study, and before he knew it a metacycle had passed with Skyfire still his friend. Something about his first non-seeker companion seemed to either put their classmates at ease or warn them away because they bothered Starscream less after Skyfire transferred in, and even Ridgeline stopped being quite as annoying. Finding it easier to concentrate, Starscream did even better in his classes, and he celebrated his improved grades with Skyfire, watching his favourite dumb Vosian movies in his dorm room with bad subtitles, Skyfire roaring with laughter as Starscream translated the real glyphs under his breath. They drank engex, stuffed their faces with oil cake, and sitting with his friend, Starscream could almost forget about Vos. 

* * *

“No, no, no - it’s takeoff, not _tak-off_ or whatever you just said,” smirked Starscream. He was teaching Skyfire Vosian, because Skyfire had suggested that having their own secret language would be awesome, and the damned shuttle was right - he was almost always right. Starscream loved that about him - he loved that Skyfire wasn’t Seeker, that he was huge, that his wings were weird, that his stupid wingtip warning lights came on automatically at night like ridiculous beacons. The first time it had happened, Starscream had practically crashed his aft into a building because he was laughing so hard, and it had yet to stop looking dumb to him.

Skyfire snorted, “Takeoff.”

“Good pronunciation, but try again,” snickered Starscream. “Takeoff.”

“Takeoff,” repeated Skyfire, attempting to keep a straight face. It didn’t work and they both burst out laughing again, making the nearest table of grounders glare at them but neither of them cared. Together, they could be lost in their own little world, their own version of the University of Iacon, where it was just them with nobody else, and it felt like nobody could intrude on it, minus their professors. Starscream and Skyfire only been friends for a half a vorn, but Starscream already knew that Skyfire was the greatest companion that he had ever possessed. He was funny, he was kind, he didn’t know a thing about seekers apart from what Starscream had told him, and he was so big that all Skyfire had to do was stand and most grounders would back off. Skyfire was great.

“Okay, okay, another one,” giggled Starscream, and he was trying to decide on a word, Skyfire making it hard by pulling stupid faces at him, when the entire cafeteria fell under a hush, every conversation in the room trailing to an abrupt close. Starscream ignored it, but Skyfire looked away with a frown and snatched his servo, his dumbaft wings which rarely moved jerking in surprise.

“Um, Star? There’s… there’s other seekers!” exclaimed Skyfire in an undertone.

“What? No there isn’t, and that’s not the glyph I was going to choose, I -” Starscream whirled around as his wing sensors finally warned him about what everyone else in the room was gaping at, and he felt his spark flicker in surprise at the sight of General Slater, flanked by his very officially marked service trine, striding imperiously up the middle of the cafeteria towards him. In the midst of the rainbow mismatch of random and very civilian ground frames, several of whom were wearing thermal blankets wrapped around their necks and on their heads for no apparent reason, the three dark seekers struck an intensely intimidating sight. Apart from Starscream, they were the only mecha in the room with crimson optics, and their distinct military bearing gave the tame, hopelessly common university students great reason to gawk.

“W-what’s going on?” squeaked a particularly large grounder mech who usually spent his time loudly revving his engines for no reason and acting tough, to the swooning of a sizable posse (which included Ridgeline, Starscream had been interested to note.) His question went unanswered.

“Hello, my brilliant Star,” greeted Slater in Vosian, wings saluting, arms stretching out imploringly as he reached Starscream and loomed over him like an asteroid. 

“Star, do you know him?” whispered Skyfire in Neocybex, thankfully unable to understand and quite obviously shocked.

“Slater,” vented Starscream, relieved that it was only the general but worried about what his coming meant. He tugged his servo free of Skyfire and stood, stepping closer to the general, who swept him into a hug, making several jaws in the room drop, including Skyfire’s.

“You’ve been doing well, Starscream,” purred Slater in his audial, “I’m very impressed.”

“Star, what’s going on?” asked Skyfire warily. “Is he one of your creators?”

Starscream glanced nervously at Skyfire, suddenly worried about what Slater would think of the shuttle. Bolstering himself, he declared in Neocybex, “Skyfire, this is, um, Slate. He’s a family friend, I’ve… I’ve known him since before I can remember anything.”

“Hello, Skyfire,” said Slater, tightening his grip around Starscream’s waist as he pulled Starscream protectively flush with his side, his wingtips flicking happily. “It’s good to meet you, I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Starscream.”

Actually, Starscream hadn’t told Slater anything at all about Skyfire, even that Skyfire existed, but the general’s glyphs dripped implications, and Starscream scowled - of course Slater had spies.

“Oh, he’s never mentioned you at all,” said Skyfire helplessly in confusion as around the room mecha began to whisper.

“I highly doubt that he has mentioned most of his kin either,” dismissed Slater, running a servo up and down Starscream’s back affectionately. “Skyfire, you and Starscream have the rest of the afternoon free, don’t you? Why don’t you come with us to dinner? I’d like to get to know you.”

Skyfire gaped at them in shock, probably because Slater somehow knew their class schedule, “Um… okay. We weren’t… really planning anything. Star, did you know that they were coming?”

“No,” said Starscream honestly, and he shuddered as Slater proceeded to kiss his cheek, which was perfectly ordinary platonic affection between seekers, but which was shocking to his enormously touch impaired shuttle friend. So far, the most affection Starscream had seen from Skyfire had been awkward shoulder touches, even between Skyfire and his creators. Feeling Starscream’s shiver, Slater nuzzled him and hugged him tighter.

“Come along, then, Skyfire, I was so glad to hear that Starscream had made a friend here finally,” said Slater, beginning to move, his service trine silently flanking behind them. “I don’t doubt that it can be lonely here, in a city full of ground frames.” In Vosian he added, “Horrible things,” and glared rather tellingly at Ridgeline, who was gaping at them.

Skyfire rather hastily got up to follow them, and grimaced at Slater’s service trine, “Um, hi there.”

“Hello, shuttle,” said one of them coolly, the femme. Starscream rarely heard either of them speak, and he didn’t know their designations - Slater had never given them. They were both pure black, and looked just as deadly as Slater himself. Rank marks decorated their wings, and Starscream had memories of being carried around by both of them when he was little, when Slater had been given brief responsibility for him, so he knew that they were to be trusted.

“Pay no mind to my companions, Skyfire,” ordered Slater loftily, guiding Starscream towards the doors, Skyfire helplessly following.

“Um, okay… do you live in Vos?” asked Skyfire uncertainly. He kept glancing back at Slater’s service trine anyway.

“Certainly,” said Slater. “I wouldn’t get my accent anywhere else, nor Starscream his.” He switched to Vosian, “Your shuttle friend knows nothing of us?”

“I haven’t told him anything of Vos,” murmured Starscream.

“That is fine, I am proud of you for concealing who you are, he does not need to know,” clicked Slater. He switched back to Neocybex, “Skyfire, how are you finding your classes? I am so pleased with how Starscream is doing.”

“Um, they’re - they’re okay,” spluttered Skyfire as they stepped outside to where it was a rainy, slightly blustery day, the weather the reason why they had opted to study (fool around,) indoors. “I like the science courses best - I mean, I think I like the same ones Starscream does. You… you follow Starscream’s grades?”

“Closely,” purred Slater. “Starscream has great potential.”

“Oh, wow,” said Skyfire, surprised, “that’s nice of you to say.”

Slater hummed, “It’s only the truth, shuttle. Now come on, let us takeoff.”

“In this?” asked Skyfire somewhat weakly as the damp wind swirled by.

Slater’s smile was distinctly wolfish, “Why ever should a bit of wind stop us? The more the challenge, the more the fun.”

Skyfire didn’t seem to think that it was fun, but to Starscream’s relief he gamely took off anyway, and Slater led them to a restaurant which Skyfire squeaked at the sight of, “Um, we’re - we’re going here?”

“Yes, is there a problem?” asked Slater, in the process of drawing Starscream aside, into the shadow of one of the restaurant’s grand pillars which supported its artful roof.

“This - this is the best restaurant in Iacon! Or, it’s supposed to be, it’s too fancy for a couple of university students!” yelped Skyfire as Slater drew a bottle out of his subspace and a towel, the latter which he used to dry Starscream’s right wing.

“Then for these joors you’re not a university student, but an honoured guest,” smirked Slater. “Excuse us, a moment.” He leaned close to Starscream, murmuring in Vosian, “Be still, my brilliant Star,” as he wiped the paint off of Starscream’s wing. Starscream flicked it hard the instance that Slater was done, ruffling his plating at the sensation of even the minute weight removed, the sensors feeling hypersensitive, and he chirped as Slater drew him back into Skyfire’s view, the shuttle’s jaw promptly dropping again as Slater drawled, “There. Now we’re ready to go in.”

“St-Star, your wing - what -” stuttered Skyfire and Starscream pretended not to see him, distractedly shaking his wings instead, relieved at the break from the paint yet dearly hoping that it would be reapplied. His royal markings dazzled in the mood lighting of the restaurant, turning helms, Skyfire gormlessly following them to the very fine table which a waiter preferred to them. Slater pulled out Starscream’s chair for him with a murmur of his rank in Vosian, Starscream noting how his spot at the table was against the restaurant’s vast windows. Slater sat to his right, between Starscream and the doors, and Skyfire sat shakily to his left, gaping at their opulent surroundings, then turning wild eyes on Starscream’s beautifully branded wing. Slater’s service trine stayed outside, faithfully guarding the perimeter.

“So, Skyfire,” smiled Slater as the waiter brought them a bottle of engex which probably cost more than what Skyfire’s creators collectively made from their jobs in a metacycle. Slater took the bottle, poured a tiny amount into a shot glass which he drew from his subspace and swirled it, optics surveying it coldly before he nodded to the waiter, who rationed out the engex rather shakily. Slater’s gaze lifted back to Skyfire as he knocked back the contents of the shot glass, “tell me about your classes.”

Skyfire looked at Starscream as if asking for help, but Starscream knew that he couldn’t intervene, not if he wanted to be allowed to keep the shuttle as his friend. Instead he sipped at his engex which Skyfire seemed too afraid to touch, and listened as Skyfire shakily responded to Slater’s casual interrogation. Over a groon of this passed before they had any chance to speak to each other, when Slater pretended to survey the menu, Skyfire immediately hissing into Starscream’s audial, “Star, this is so weird, what is with this mech?”

“I told you, Skyfire, he’s a family friend,” said Starscream primly, taking another dainty sip of engex, with the paint removed from his wing feeling elegant and royal again, worthy of being admired.

“Yeah, but why’s he asking so many questions? I feel like I’m being interrogated or something!” hissed Skyfire.

“Just fly with it, I doubt that he will be here long,” said Starscream. He patted Skyfire’s servo, “Drink your engex, Skyfire, that slag’s expensive.”

Skyfire’s optics widened, “What do you mean ‘expensive?’”

“I mean like you don’t want to know how much it cost,” smirked Starscream. Learning the cost of basic things through Skyfire had made him all the more appreciative of his usually opulent existence - and how little he had to physically work for it thanks to his inherited superiority.

Skyfire glanced at his glass, then took a cautious sip, his optics bugging, “Holy slag that’s good, I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“Right?” grinned Starscream, carefully hiding his smile behind his own glass as Slater ordered them dessert.

“So, Skyfire,” said Slater, words which Skyfire was clearly beginning to dread, “what are your plans for this upcoming break?”

Skyfire swallowed, “My parents are taking me on a training flight to Praxus - my sire wants me to learn long distance flying just in case science doesn’t pan out as a career for me.”

“Nonsense, with your processor?” snorted Slater.

“Exactly my thoughts, Slate,” agreed Starscream smugly.

Skyfire gaped as if he didn’t quite understand, and Starscream doubted that he did at all, fully convinced that Slater had seen all of his friend’s records.

“Flying is fun though,” said Starscream, trying to be helpful.

“Yeah… yeah it’s gonna be fun,” said Skyfire. He frowned, “Star, you never said what you were going to do?”

Starscream almost choked himself on engex. He coughed unattractively and wheezed until Slater handed him a cloth to clear his vents into.

“Starscream must return to Vos on his break, of course,” said Slater, “He has a duty to kin, isn’t that right, Starscream? His creators have just been blessed with new siblings for him.”

“Sparklings?” Skyfire beamed, “That’s tremendous, sir! So you’re going to go meet them, Star?”

Starscream doubted that this was an apt description of what was going to happen and glared at Slater plaintively - he had rather been hoping that the saying ‘out of sight, out of mind’ would have protected him from having to return to shoddy Vos. Slater lifted a brow at him imploringly, and Starscream groaned, “Yeah, Skyfire, plus there’s probably going to be a party or something to welcome them which I’ll have to go to.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” grinned Skyfire cluelessly.

“Yeah,” agreed Starscream, and he switched to Vosian, “so much fun. Do I have to? They’re just going to drool on me and squeak, that’s literally all seekerlings do, especially newborn ones.”

“Starscream, you know the deal which your sire made with you; you must return for all breaks,” said Slater unsympathetically in Vosian. “Seekers are social mecha, your idiot friend here tides you over but you need your own kind, no matter how clever you are.”

“Hey, he’s a good idiot,” huffed Starscream defensively, glad that Skyfire was still largely clueless to Vosian. “What if they try to keep me in Vos?”

“They won’t, because you’re going to be a good little prince and show them that university is having a positive, calming effect on you, so that they agree to let you return,” said Slater. “Mind yourself, Starscream, you fly on poor winds here, and I would beg you not to be so public about your friendship with this shuttle. We’re fortunate that the slagging paparazzi have yet to find you here, and that they barely know who you are yet, but they will soon enough. Once they do, I don’t doubt that you’ll become their favourite prey, so Starscream, focus on your studies - you only have this _one_ chance you know. Once the paparazzi learn about the defiant carrier-prince studying abroad your face will be decorating all the media and you won’t be able to go anywhere without the impossible fraggers getting in your way.”

“Won’t my slagging markings draw attention?” hissed Starscream, pointing at his brand as Skyfire watched them cluelessly.

“Possibly, but it was worth it - I needed to remind you that you are a prince, so that you’d recall your eloquence before you are returned to Vos in a few orns,” said Slater. “Besides - I missed seeing you in your proper splendour. The university student look gets so tiresome.”

“You’re right,” grimaced Starscream, feeling the same.

“Of course I am,” said Slater. He switched back to Neocybex and addressed Skyfire, “My dearest apologies, Skyfire, we didn’t mean to shut you out, Starscream just had a question for me in private.”

“Um, it’s okay,” said Skyfire awkwardly. “Uh, so Star, how many siblings do you have?”

“Too many,” sniffed Starscream, earning himself a raised brow from Slater.

“How many siblings do you have, Skyfire?” deflected the general, which was a stupid question because knowing Slater he definitely already knew, but Skyfire happily latched onto the conversation starter. Starscream sipped at his engex and listened as Skyfire blabbed out his entire life story to Slater, who did a truly artful job at pretending to be interested. By the time they had finished their meal, Starscream doubted that there was possibly anything which Slater didn’t know about Skyfire and he could tell that his shuttle friend was exhausted. When the waiter finally came with the bill, Starscream hid his smirk behind his engex glass as Skyfire blanched at how much it cost, but Slater didn’t even glance at it, acting as though he had merely treated them to some hot energon rather than a meal worth a literal fortune.

“Skyfire, do you mind waiting here a klik?” purred Slater, standing as Starscream finished his energon. “I need another word with Starscream - it is about his travel arrangements.”

“Um, sure,” squeaked Skyfire, apparently traumatized by the meal cost.

“Thank you,” said Slater graciously, pulling out Starscream’s chair for him and offering him his arm. Starscream rolled his optics but took it, allowing Slater to lead him into the restaurant’s incredibly fancy powder room where he held his wing very still while Slater reapplied the paint. The general finished and Starscream’s wingtips drooped involuntarily - it was harder to preen over how beautiful he was when his bling was hidden. Slater chuckled at him, clicking, “Cheer up, Starscream, you’ll get to be lovely constantly on your break.”

Potentially the only benefit of going home, Starscream decided. He walked back out on Slater’s arm, Skyfire gaping at them, spluttering, “W-what happened? Star, your wing -”

“Hmm?” asked Starscream disinterestedly.

“W-where’d the pretty marking go?” asked Skyfire.

Starscream pretended to be hard of hearing, Slater remarking, “Well, looks like evening has fallen - I should escort Starscream back to his dorm room, Skyfire. You may come if you were planning to hang out - Starscream and I will have plenty of time to catch up on the flight back to Vos, plus I appreciate that you will need studying for your test in two orns.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll come,” said Skyfire, not quite at all to Starscream’s relief. The flight back to the university was just as blustery as the flight from, and Slater escorted Starscream all the way to his dorm room door, where Skyfire gaped as Slater kissed Starscream’s cheek then hugged him, whispering encouragement for his tests. Despite Skyfire’s awkward presence, Starscream could not help purring a tiny bit at the affection, and he was still smiling despite knowing what Slater’s presence meant when the general scooted him into his room, urging him to make sure that he got a good recharge, that he didn’t study all night. Skyfire followed him and looked bewildered as Slater walked away, Starscream using his distraction to get his datapad out.

“Ahem,” announced Starscream, Skyfire’s gaze snapping back to him. “What were your answers for question alpha twenty-two, Skyfire?”

Now Skyfire stared at him, entirely speechless for a klik before asking, “Starscream, is your actual family that weird? Are they rolling in shanix too?”

Starscream pretended to snort, “Skyfire, they’re very boring.”

“Starscream, that mech looked like he was part of some scary organization or something,” said Skyfire.

“He’s just a businessmech,” shrugged Starscream.

“Okay,” accepted Skyfire to his relief. “What’s with your wing and its magic disappearing markings?”

“All seekers need to have wing brands in Vos, Skyfire,” lied Starscream. “I covered mine with paint when I came here because I don’t need it.”

Skyfire muddled this over, finally protesting, “But it’s so pretty.”

“Skyfire, I get enough negative attention without my wing grabbing attention,” said Starscream, hoping this explanation would do the trick.

“Okay,” decided Skyfire. He sighed, “It was really pretty. Alright though, you’re right about it being study time…”

Starscream smirked, pleased with himself for managing to preserve the ruse. Slater had obviously tested him by letting Skyfire see his wing marking and Starscream had prevailed, so Slater would be happy. But… Slater had been right about paparazzi; Starscream peered at his natural frame markings and felt distaste - unless he wanted the most annoying seekers ever sparked constantly at his tailfins, he would have to hide more than just his royal brand. And, Skyfire needed to forget what his natural markings look like - lest the clever shuttle accidentally run across a capture of the Vosian royal family.

Ultimately, he also needed to find a way to make his residency in Iacon permanent - yet this seemed a thought for another orn. For now, he was just happy to be in school with his friend, and he needed to focus on being the most well behaved prince possible for his trip home so that he would be allowed back.


	29. First Taste of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated 'R' for Rung!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun story - I tried to upload this chapter last week but my house's internet decided to have issues, so I lost the hour's worth of work that I put into it. I didn't have time or heart to try again then (my schedule was horrid,) but I do now, so yay! Also, I'm off on a rather long adventure at the end of April, so I am aiming to get this done and fully uploaded before then, but no promises because the trip I'm going on requires a lot of prep beforehand, including several hours worth of physical training each week to build my endurance. I'm still going to try like mad though, and I will hopefully have something to upload while I am on the trip too, but that's gonna depend on how I feel at the end of each day; there might be days where I only have enough energy to jot a few journal notes. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your patience! I'm sorry that you had to wait so long for this! Thank you for reading!

“How the fragging _frag_ did the Autoglitches get their filthy slagheap servos on _spacebridge_ technology?!” shrieked Starscream. “That’s Decepticon tech! How dare they!”  
He was somewhat pleased as everyone in the cave flinched. He was less pleased as his enraged innards promptly caused him to involuntarily double over.

“Starscream, maybe you should rest,” said Thundercracker worriedly, reaching for his hips as if to pull him down. Starscream hitched out of reach and forced himself fully upright again, struggling to conceal how much he was hurting from his face, desperately blocking it futilely from the bond. His frame hadn’t liked him running across the desert for several hics - it hadn’t even liked him sitting up in the first place. His scraplet offspring were ruining him more quickly than Megatron had tried in all the long centravorns of the war, and the microscopic little fraggers didn’t even have processors yet. 

“Hotlink!” growled Starscream, the purple seeker sitting straighter at his name. “We need to fragging find out more about their damned bridge. We need to know if it’s interstellar space capable like the Decepticon spacebridge, and what its range is like. Preferably, also how the _frag_ it worked without a receiving portal ring!”

“I’ll do what I can, Winglord,” non-promised Hotlink. Starscream scowled, but he decided that now wasn’t the time to be alienating his faction, especially when he had just noticed that he was blatantly gripping his stomach with a servo. He couldn’t recall electing to put his hand on his middle - but for some reason he couldn’t contemplate taking it away, even as he hissed internally at himself for the display of weakness. 

“Bitstream, you hack the slagheaps too,” huffed Starscream, sidestepping away from Thundercracker as his mate stood up and reached for him again._ Stop that, glitch._ Starscream stumbled to the other side of the cave between Blitzwing and Astrotrain, whirling to face Thundercracker who had the nerve to _hiss_ at him.

“Those glitches were far too close to our base, so we need to move!” snapped Starscream, carefully placing the triple-changers between himself and his stalking mate. “Acid Storm, have you found _anything?”_

“Yes, this orn Jadewing and Crosswind’s trines found something, but it is on the other side of the planet, Winglord,” said Acid Storm, his face annoyingly concerned. “It is a long flight; there’s no way that we could leave immediately.”

“Why not?” huffed Starscream, ignoring the obvious, which was his own servos wrapped tight around his midriff and his frame’s strange refusal to straighten all the way, or how wonky his wings looked because he couldn’t get either to perk up in his usual imperious cant.

“For Primus’ sake, Starscream, it’s because _you_ need to fragging rest! At least a few joors!” snapped Thundercracker, and Starscream knew that his trinemate’s patience had been lost when he was snatched off of his pedes, then bodily carried across the cave room back to his tarp where Skywarp was awkwardly sitting, rubbing at a fresh looking weld on his forearm.

“LET GO!” hissed Starscream, furious as he found himself pinned by Thundercracker, Skywarp peering worriedly at him.

“No, stay down!” ordered Thundercracker.

“You do not order me!” snarled Starscream. “Brig!”

“Star, we don’t have a brig,” sighed Skywarp sadly.

“You can’t send us to the brig anymore anyway, we’re no longer Decepticons!” hissed Thundercracker, wrapping him in his blanket, then resuming holding him down, Starscream’s arms and wings now pinned to his sides. 

“Winglord, please, listen to Lord Thundercracker,” said Nova Storm, voice repellent with concern. “Once you’ve rested we can begin the journey; Acid Storm, why don’t we get Nacelle’s trine to scout out the route?”

“That’s a good idea,” said Acid Storm swiftly. “Winglord, Nacelle will go scout the route.”

“Um, Acid Storm -” began Slipstream (everyone in the room glared at her, at which she rolled her optics,) “- I mean, _General_ Acid Storm; my trine could scout -”

“You’re welcome to go with Nacelle’s trine,” decided Acid Storm.

“But Nacelle’s trine was on sentry -” argued Slipstream.

“Whoo! Feelin’ fresh, aren’t we, mecha?” exclaimed Nacelle, shooting to his pedes and ridiculously jogging on the spot. His trine groaned but stood up too, at which Nacelle bounded for the cave entrance with a fakely cheery, “C’mon, Slipstream! Let’s take a fly up the Pacific - the further from the Atlantic and the _Nemesis_ the better!”

Slipstream huffed, but she left, her carrier-mate Trickshot hesitating behind to unnecessarily sappily well-wish, “Feel better, Winglord! If we find any energon along the way I’ll make sure that it’s saved for you!”

She was out the door before Starscream could reply and he attempted to regain some composure despite Thundercracker still pinning him down, venting, “And what happens if the Autoglitches return and attack before I’m done ‘resting?’ What if instead it is the DJD or Predaking?”

“I carry you to safety,” said Astrotrain simply.

Every seeker present looked around at him uncomfortably, at which the triple-changer crossed his arms, snapping, “How else is he supposed to escape? Skywarp - _Lord_ Skywarp, excuse me - can’t teleport him all the way to wherever the new base is.”

“It’s just… unnatural,” said Ramjet. “Seekers aren’t supposed to be carried by other mechs like that…”

“You’d rather he _die?”_ demanded Astotrain.

“Thank you, Astrotrain,” said Thundercracker earnestly.

Astrotrain, who generally scowled a lot, smiled, “Hey, I wanna see your seekerlings. Haven’t seen anything cute for like… way too long. Used to get right into the sparkling vortex back home before the war.”

Blitzwing leaned away from him, “That’s weird, glitch.”

“They’re cute! They make you smile!” protested Astrotrain, smacking Blitzwing’s nearest wing.

Starscream ex-vented, conceding that this was actually a good plan. “Fine. Thank you, everyone. Acid - General Acid Storm - thank you for occupying Slipstream.”

“She was voted most likely to go traitor last time we were all here but you were in recharge,” noted Thrust.

“You had a vote about that?” asked Starscream, bewildered.

“Yeah, Skywarp was voted least likely; I mean, look at him,” said Thrust, at which Starscream noticed that Skywarp was gazing at him lovingly.

“Who was second place on the ‘most likely?’” asked Starscream, wondering if he wanted to know.

“Sunstorm if everyone suddenly revoked Primus,” said Bitstream. Sunstorm gave him a frightened look and Bitstream sighed, “Nobody will, Sunstorm, don’t worry.”

Starscream glanced around at the faces of his mecha, abruptly feeling as if a metrotitan had sat on him. “I… I’m going to take a tactical recharge now. Good… good meeting.”

He passed out to the sinful poetry of Skywarp blackmailing a disturbed Astrotrain to carry Dogfight’s revolting disembodied wing for him.

* * *

“What is it with you and the seekers?” snapped Sideswipe.

Skyfire looked up reluctantly from his fuel, already regretting sitting down in the mess to drink his ration. He had thought that it might be a nice change from fueling in his hab suite or in the lab, but clearly it had actually been a horrible idea as the Ark’s resident seeker-haters loomed over him like an eviction notice.

“I don’t think it’s your business,” said Skyfire softly.

Sideswipe sat with a furious clatter across from Skyfire, “Look, civvy, however nice the seekers way back when were, the seekers now are murdering vicious slagheaps. They’re not even proper mecha, they’re like mechanimals.”

“Fastcut and Greenflit don’t look like murderers,” said Skyfire, downing the last of his appalling cube with regret, and faint disgust that he was getting used to the flavour. He stood, “You can have your table back. I’d fathom that you and Sunstreaker don’t look like murderers either, but you’ve admitted to finding killing seekers fun, so clearly you are.”

Sideswipe’s jaw dropped and Sunstreaker stiffened, Sideswipe finally spluttering, “You need your fragging processor checked, civvy! We’re in a damned war!”

“So you say,” said Skyfire darkly as he walked away as quickly as he could manage. So far, the only proof he’d seen were the injuries, but was it really war when they didn’t have anything proper to even fight over? Functionism clearly (in Skyfire’s opinion,) still existed, but Cybertron was impossibly far away and barren, and the bratty fight between its survivors had claimed yet another life that morning. Thankfully, it hadn’t been Dogfight, but Skyfire’s spark still ached over the reasonless stupidity of the death, a nameless Decepticon whom he had overheard Cliffjumper bragging about as he had come in, spattered with gore. It hurt him that mecha were fighting over a planet which wasn’t even theirs, that they were getting a short-lived and delicate alien species caught up in it too.

To make Skyfire feel even gloomier, Optimus Prime had not managed to find any trace of Starscream or his seekers or even Dogfight’s wing when he had gone back to the desert with Prowl. This, of course, was possibly actually a good thing given Sideswipe, but Skyfire still felt sore over the lack of news. To compound that, Skyfire’s last batch of jet grade had been accidentally blown up by Wheeljack before he had been able to test it, so he currently had about zero progress in helping Starscream.

Gloomily headed back to his lab, he turned a corner and almost ran over the skinny orange psychologist, Rung. Skyfire hastily stepped away, apologizing, “Oh! I’m so sorry, I was lost in my thoughts!”

“It’s quite alright, but do be careful in case it’s a human next time,” said Rung kindly. “How are you doing, Professor? I was hoping to find you this orn - if you have a joor free, I would love to chat.”

Skyfire had to cycle this through his processor for a klik, “You mean to like… analyze me?”

“Well, I will obviously take some notes, but honestly you are likely the most sane mech here,” noted Rung. “Who isn’t me, of course. What do you think?”

Skyfire thought of his failed project and deflated, “Fine, I could use more of a break - I tried to go to the mess hall but the twins showed up.”

“Ah yes, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe,” said Rung knowingly.

“Have you analyzed them?” asked Skyfire.

“Only from a distance,” snorted Rung. “I’m afraid that they have no patience for me.”

“Are you going to report what you think about me?” wondered Skyfire suspiciously.

“I believe in medic-patient confidentiality, Skyfire,” Rung informed him. “We may be in a war, but mecha still have the right to some privacy. Unless I find that you admit to having a weapon of mass destruction hidden under your berth or I think that you are a danger to yourself, I’m not going to tell a soul.”

This did little to soothe Skyfire’s trepidition, but he followed the orange mech anyway, and spent the entire walk trying to figure out without asking what the grounder’s alt mode was. Within Rung’s office, which surprisingly looked exactly like the psychiatry clinics which Skyfire remembered on Cybertron (except for an impressive collection of model spaceships on proud display,) Skyfire sat down, expecting immediate analysis. Instead, Rung offered him a rust stick and they spent an entire groon discussing Rung’s spaceship models, then interstellar travel. Skyfire was feeling so at ease that by the time Rung asked anything pointed about himself, he felt like he was talking to a new friend rather than a doctor of psychiatry.

“…you’re a very interesting mech, Skyfire!” Rung was chuckling after Skyfire finished telling him about his upbringing. “Ahh, I miss Iacon, I -”

_**KA-BLAM!**_

“W-what the frag was that?!” yelped Skyfire, staggering upright as the entire base seemed to violently shake. 

“Oh dear, it sounds like we might be under atta-” began Rung, his sentence interrupted by yet another horrible noise like thunder and the alarm claxon going off as the _Ark_ shook harder. The psychiatrist looked frightened, yelping, “Skyfire, we are under attack for sure, I think! Unless it’s the volcano -”

“Volcano?” yelped Skyfire, repulsed. “What volcano?”

“The one that the _Ark_ is beside,” said Rung, staring at him in mirrored horror.

“What kind of idiot parks a damaged spaceship beside an active volc-” sputtered Skyfire.

::ALL AUTOBOTS, ROLL OUT! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK! ALL AUTOBOTS, TO YOUR BATTLE STATIONS -:: shrieked Red Alert. The mech gasped, making Skyfire flinch, and his voice took on a new edge of terror, ::WE’VE BEEN BREACHED! THEY’RE IN HERE WITH US, THEY’RE -::

A sound awfully like a blaster discharging cut off the mech’s words and the claxon stopped but the terrible roaring of explosions didn’t, nor did the yelling outside Rung’s door. For some reason it was more terrible without the claxon, Skyfire yelping, “Um, is there like a bunker for us to hide in or something?!”

“Of course not! This is a warship, this -” cried Rung, and he seemed to forget what he was saying, looking petrified for some reason as from directly above them there was a scampering clatter. Rung gasped and fumbled in his subspace, perhaps looking for a gun, Skyfire watching transfixed as the air vent directly above their helms opened of its own accord, Rung shouting, “SKYFIRE, RUN!”

“Ho, Rav, this him? Really? Looks slow,” cackled a voice, Skyfire feeling distinctly unable to obey Rung, much too horrified at what was happening, gaped as one of the smallest mechs that he had ever seen peered down at him from the vent. He was blue and his smile was positively wicked as he surveyed Skyfire.

“It’s him,” hissed a second voice.

“Alright then -” grinned Rumble.

“SKYFIRE!” roared Rung, panicking, and to Skyfire’s horror he shot at the blue mech.

To Skyfire’s greater horror, Rung missed completely.

“You’re gonna regret that, glitch!” snapped the little blue mech, suddenly flying out of the vent at Rung, who squeaked and ran for the door.

“Rumble, let him go, that Autoglitch can’t even fight,” snapped the second voice, Skyfire watching terrified as what seriously looked like a black cybercat but definitely wasn’t leapt out of the vent and turned to Skyfire. Its crimson optics were colder than the ice which Skyfire had been frozen in as it bared its formidable denta at him, “You’re coming with us, Neutral. We gotta job for you, and you got info for our boss.”

“I-I do? Wh-who is your boss?” squeaked Skyfire.

“Soundwave,” said the not-cybercat smugly.

Decepticons. They were Decepticons, real ones, not like his Star - Skyfire felt weak, and terrified, wondering what they were going to do to him.

“Follow us and you’ll be fine - Frenzy, hurry up!” snarled the not-cybercat, at which a little red mech exactly like Rumble popped out of the vent. “Let’s go - shuttle, come on, like I said we’re breaking you out of this place.”

“I-I’m not a prisoner,” sputtered Skyfire.

“So you think,” snorted the not-cybercat, running for the door, Rumble and Frenzy dashing past him. Skyfire reluctantly followed, hoping to find help in the hallway beyond, but it was disturbingly empty, except for an enormous slate grey rotor mech who leered at him, a Decepticon brand smack in the middle of his chest. The not-cybercat seemed to smirk, “Professor, have you met Vortex? He’s right on time to be our escort this orn.”

Skyfire cycled his optics, considered the circumstances, and gave a panicked yell as he attempted to escape.

“No! Don’t run! Idiot civilian - Tex, get him!” ordered the not-cybercat and Skyfire abruptly lost his footing, face planting into the floor as something hit him from behind. The not-cybercat chuffed as Vortex hauled Skyfire back onto his pedes and slapped stasis cuffs on him, “I’m Ravage, by the way. So glad to finally make your acquaintance, Professor Skyfire.”

Skyfire tried to dig in his pedes but Vortex shoved him from behind, snarling, “Move it, civvy, and don’t even try shouting for help!”

“Tex, he doesn’t _need_ help,” purred Ravage, “he’s one of us, clearly. Flight frames just don’t belong with Autobots, and he’ll want to see Air Commander Starscream.”

“Starscream?!” yelped Skyfire as Vortex forced him down the hallway. “Do you know where he is? Is he okay?!”

“Of course we know where he is, our boss is Soundwave,” reasoned Ravage. “As for whether he’s okay… well, that’s explaining which _you’ll_ have to do, shuttle. Now hurry up - that orange weirdo’s going to be back with friends.”

Skyfire swallowed hard, his innards in sick misery, “I-I’ll do my best but my spark isn’t in good shape, it’s still healing and I can’t fly.”

“Not a problem. That’s why we brought Blast Off,” said Ravage and whoever Blast Off was, Skyfire didn’t find out until Vortex was shoving him up through a hole they had blasted into the side of the _Ark._ Outside, it was easier to hear the gunfire and explosions happening, making Skyfire recognize that he had never been more terrified, but they didn’t go anywhere near the fighting. He was led down a loose scree slope, through some trees and to a meadow, where another shuttle sat waiting in his alt mode. There was nobody else the mech could be, Skyfire thought, and he shivered in panic at all the Decepticon brands which he could see present on the waiting mecha.

“Hey boss, civvy’s secure,” said Frenzy to a blue grounder with a visor whom Skyfire remembered seeing in the footage from Starscream’s file. “Operation was cake.”

“Frenzy, Rumble: return to battle,” ordered the blue mech in a strange monotone which was completely devoid of emotion.

“Righto, boss,” grinned Rumble. He punched Frenzy in the arm, “C’mon! Let’s not let Menasor and Predaking get all the fun!”

“Bring ya back a report on how dead Superion is without his bodyguard Sky Lynx teh help ‘im, boss!” exclaimed Frenzy, making Skyfire stare at them in horror as they ran off. He’d spoken to Silverbolt and his crew - they were some of the nicer Autobots!

“W-what’s happened to Sky Lynx?” spluttered Skyfire. He didn’t know Sky Lynx - he had only glimpsed him - but all of the Autobots seemed very fond of the enormous… whatever he was.

“War casualty,” intoned Soundwave as Vortex stalked past to thump the other shuttle on his alt mode face. “Professor Skyfire: come. We require your assistance on the matter of Air Commander Starscream.”

Skyfire wondered if they knew. He wondered if he even had a choice.

Soundwave’s visor flashed and he took a step backwards, “Ah. Thank you for your explanation of our Air Commander’s recent actions. You will of course explain in more detail on the _Nemesis.”_

Skyfire gaped at him, wondering what he meant until he suddenly remembered what he had been told - that Soundwave was a telepath. Skyfire ex-vented raggedly, his fuel pump seeming to jog out of time as he wondered what he could do now, how he could possibly save himself, as well as if he had just condemned his vulnerable amica endura.

* * *

It was strangely difficult, leaving the cave, but Starscream woke up properly once he was airborne, even if transforming hurt, and his trinemates flew closer than usual, ready to support him if needed, wings practically overlapping with his as they moved north up the west coast of South America. Every two joors of flying they set down for a long break, Starscream hungrily gulping the energon which his trine gave him, which tasted sourly as if perhaps the Autobots had possibly had it in storage a little too long. It was weirdly thick and opaque but Starscream had tasted far worse things, so he didn’t complain, feeling rather like complaining would have been rude. Normally he would not have cared one iota about being rude, but he was the only mech in the faction who even had energon and he felt too horrible to complain. Awful fuel consumed, he curled up between his mates for a couple joor’s rest - his faction refused to move if he didn’t.

“How’s he doing?” Starscream sleepily overheard Acid Storm asking Skywarp as his trinemate came back from wherever he had vanished to. They had reached North America - the Mexican coastal sunshine felt wonderful on Starscream’s wings as he snuggled against Thundercracker, who was a very good pillow when he deigned to hold still long enough.

“He’s okay,” chirped Skywarp.

“Lord Skywarp, you’re bleeding,” said Ion Storm in concern.

“Oh, am I?” laughed Skywarp. “I musta walked too close to a rock or something.”

Starscream onlined his optics blearily and lifted his helm up off of Thundercracker’s chest to look around, at the sandy, completely rockless landscape.

Primus, Skywarp was dumb sometimes.

“Mmm, Star, you onlining, love?” purred Thundercracker, and Starscream got distracted by Thundercracker enwrapping him in a hug then kissing him. The fragger tried to touch his belly and Starscream lazily swatted his servo away, Thundercracker laughing into their kiss. _You’ll share eventually._

_ I will not!_ huffed Starscream and he sat up stiffly as Skywarp joined them, a fresh, rather sloppy weld on his leg streaming a drip of energon. There were a few other fresh welds too; Starscream frowned and touched the newest with his digit, wondering how the slag his trinemate had managed to knick the _inside_ of his thigh against a fragging non-existent boulder. Skywarp brushed his servo away and pinned him against Thundercracker for a passionate kiss, his side of the bond determined with love and weird sirely dedication to their newsparks. Starscream forgot about the faint flicker of pain in his mate’s field and he snuggled obligingly against Skywarp, who for some reason looked everywhere but at him as Starscream sipped at his energon cube, frowning, “Your subspace is slagging warm, Skywarp.”

“Is it?! It’s a hot country, I guess!” exclaimed Skywarp, oddly frantic. Starscream stared at him for a klik, then shrugged (Skywarp was just weird so it was better not to question him most of the time,) and frowned, wondering where Thundercracker had gone. He’d gotten up when Skywarp had sat down and now Starscream couldn’t see him. Starscream drank the last of the barely palatable energon cube and Skywarp took it from him, then caught him in another kiss, his mouth tasting unpleasantly of petroleum. A breem later Thundercracker was back, and Starscream frowned at the weld on his blue mate’s lower leg, which didn’t seem to be healing. Baffled as to why this could be, he smeared nanite gel on both of his idiots’ wounds and let them coax him back into the air, doing his best to pretend that his transformation sequence didn’t make him want to shriek in pain.

A joor later they came upon the most dreaded lag of the trip, soaring within a groon’s flight of the _Ark_ at Mount Saint Helens but the Washington skies were mercifully clear of Autobots. Starscream stubbornly managed to fly on for another joor before his trine became suspicious and they set down for the third rest of the peculiarly harrowing trip in northern British Columbia. Before his newsparks their landing site would have been a good potential site for a base, but it was too cold, Starscream hissing as he resentfully pressed himself against his disgruntled trinemates, who squeezed together to warm his frame between their own. Winter was coming where they lay in the north, and Starscream was sickeningly reminded of Skyfire freezing in a glacier for eons as his trine squirmed, trying to check all the gaps between their frames.

At last they settled, murmuring though the bond in relief, and Starscream glared between their faces at the sliver of his resting faction that he could see, hissing aloud, “What if we just fragging stormed the _Nemesis_ and took the damned spacebridge home?”

Thundercracker groaned, perhaps because he had been hoping for Starscream to be passed out.

“What about Megatron?” asked Skywarp as mecha looked over at them.

“Maybe we should just let the old slagheap stay here,” growled Starscream. “It can be his retirement home with Prime.”

His mecha snickered appreciatively until Blitzwing noted, “What about the DJD?”

“Let’s bomb the scrap out of those slagheaps,” growled Dirge.

“I agree with Dirge; they show their ugly faces, we rip ‘em to shreds!” snapped Thrust.

“We should rip them to shreds anyway; we’ll be on the List, since we defected,” noted Ion Storm.

“I like the idea of bombs,” said Astrotrain. “The DJD might be lethal on the ground but none of the fraggers can fly.”

“Problem,” noted Ramjet, “the princes won’t be able to fly either - for a really long time, like a decavorn and a half.”

_ Princes._ Starscream started growling and a servo (Thundercracker’s,) stroked him quiet again. He didn’t need reminding that the _parasites_ inside of him were royal too, that any one of them could steal _his_ crown, _his_ throne!

“Shh, Star,” breathed Skywarp petting him too, and Starscream felt surprisingly powerless against their affectionate onslaught so he purred grumpily, admitting silently that their determined efforts to keep him warm were working.

“We will build an eyrie, of course,” decided Acid Storm. “A grand tower which no grounder can access without assistance. Our first generation of seekerlings will grow strong there, and when they are old enough, they will help us in the rebuilding of Vos.”

“First generation?” mused Crosswind’s carrier-mate Topaz rather dreamily. “More of us creating soon?”

“Of course, if Megatron is defeated and it is safe,” noted Acid Storm. He looked straight at Starscream, “I am right, am I not, Winglord? Your litter will need trinemates, so an entire new generation will be needed. With luck, they will resonate together.”

He was right and Starscream wanted fiercely to deny it, to pretend some more that his slagging newsparks were just unsentient parasites, not seekers at all. Instead, he clamped his denta and decided that he felt far too disgusting to be bothersome, snapping resentfully, “You are, General Acid Storm.”

A murmur of excited interest was the revolting response to this and Starscream wondered whether they’d even get to finish the damned war before more of his seekers were down with afflictions of newsparks. He growled, “We _must_ figure out slagging fuel first.”

The sycophantic idiots agreed with him and Starscream entertained himself for a while with thoughts of murdering Shockwave until Thundercracker groaned for some reason then Skywarp broke out giggling like a ninny.

Apparently neither of his mates found it _seemly_ that he, the carrier of their young, was entertaining thoughts of mechslaughter.

“Fraggers,” grumbled Starscream.

* * *

As horrible and claustrophobic as being crammed inside of a human cargo plane had been, being crammed inside of another shuttle was exponentially worse. It was absolutely mortifying to feel another shuttle’s strange field around him and while Skyfire had fond memories of carrying Starscream in his hold, feeling the seeker snuggled in a warm ball while he slept as well as vaguer memories of flying with his own carrier, there was nothing charming about being flown around by Blast Off. The strange shuttle’s electromagnetic field had a repulsive jangle of discord to it which made Skyfire’s plating crawl. It was like the mech’s energy wasn’t entirely there - and like the energy of other mecha who weren’t even present were somehow there instead.

To heighten Skyfire’s profound discomfort, he was crammed inside of Blast Off’s hold (which he barely fit in,) with company - Soundwave’s bizarrely (physics denying) puny alt mode (which Skyfire couldn’t even remotely identify,) and his three little minions. Ravage, perhaps because he was running with the whole cybercat thing, spent the entire two joor flight staring at Skyfire. Despite being the victim of a mechnapping, Skyfire almost cried in relief when Blast Off blandly (as if the situation was completely normal instead of enormously awkward,) announced that they were on their final approach to the _Nemesis._

“…please be sure that you are prepared to meet an angry tankformer,” deadpanned Blast Off, as if reminding passengers at Iacon Spaceport to keep an eye on their luggage.

“Um, okay,” said Skyfire, dearly wishing to be away from Blast Off.

“Do you like flying in space?” asked Blast Off, suddenly bizarrely conversational now that Skyfire was nearing his potential demise, or torture. “I prefer the outer atmosphere; I like shooting mecha from afar. It’s nice when they have no idea where the shot came from, you know?”

Skyfire’s discomfort multiplied by about a thousand. “Um, I’ve never shot anyone, but I’ll take that under advisement… I guess.”

“It’s a great method because you don’t get shot back,” noted Blast Off. “I like not getting shot, the medbay sucks. Don’t tell Hook, okay? He’s happier if he thinks that you like him.”

“Okay,” said Skyfire.

“I also like the outer atmosphere because I get to be alone there, and think, but you’re welcome to join me - y’know, if you live and stuff,” said Blast Off, adding dreamily, “we can stare at clouds together. None of my gestaltmates do that, not even Vortex.”

Skyfire shifted uncomfortably, wishing ever more dearly that he wasn’t jammed inside of the mech’s hold. “Uh, sure, Blast Off. Umm… who’s the tankformer you mentioned? The angry one?”

“Answer: Lord Megatron of Tarn,” answered Soundwave before Blast Off could. “Be wary of his fusion canon.”

“His what?” asked Skyfire.

“The big aft gun on his right arm,” supplied Blast Off helpfully. “He likes shooting mecha with it, Air Commander Starscream made it for him.”

“He… what?!” spluttered Skyfire, but nobody answered him, which was unfortunate, because Skyfire felt like he could have benefited from finding out more about his amica’s insane sounding gun invention. He had no idea what a fusion canon actually did, but he had a pretty good idea that he didn’t want a demonstration. Since he had no view of the outside world, his only sense of it was through Blast Off’s nauseatingly unpredictable banking and the sudden _thump_ of his landing gear as he touched down. 

“It was nice to meet another shuttle who isn’t an aft, I hope that you live,” said Blast Off sorrowfully, then he popped open his rear hatch and Skyfire hastily exited, mumbling inarticulate thanks. Soundwave, Ravage, Frenzy and Rumble followed, Skyfire looking around nervously as Blast Off transformed into a tricoloured mech of purple, black and brown. He wore the face mask and visor which seemed to be so popular of war era mecha, which Skyfire decided annoyed him because it made mecha harder to read. Vortex buzzed up with a thunder of his flight blades and Skyfire watched, wondering what the slag was happening as the intimidating looking rotor knocked shoulders with Blast Off in apparent affection.

“This way,” ordered Soundwave, who had folded back out of his bizarre alt mode. Skyfire wondered why the mech bothered telling him this - there was literally nowhere else to go. Perhaps it was to be conversational as the platform they stood on was wet, stank of rust, and was barely large enough for a shuttle to land on. Somehow despite it literally dripping there were burn marks from thruster ignitions, proving that at least at some point, seekers had been there. Skyfire climbed awkwardly into the lift with his captors and waited dreadfully while it dropped, opening up into a vast hangar which was completely empty. 

There were signs of life there - sleeping areas piled with cushions and blankets, datapads left unattended, and a vast graffiti tag written in Vosian encouragingly declared ‘HAIL STARSCREAM!’ which Skyfire doubted that the other Decepticons knew about. (There were also quite a few crude drawings of spikes, and unflattering stick drawings of Optimus Prime dying. Additionally, there was a tag declaring ‘PRIMUS LOVES YOU’ with a refrain of ‘SHUT UP, SUNSTORM’ which had been replied to with ‘ESPECIALLY YOU, DIRGE.’) There were silhouettes of alt mode seekers drawn all over one wall in groups of three and written in incredibly difficult to look at Vosian cursive, were the glyphs ‘GLORY TO VOS.’

Along one wall was a station with a bank of monitors, all inactive, and Skyfire could almost imagine Starscream working there. He wondered at how noisy the place must have once been, and what sort of things had happened there. Surely, despite them being in a war it had been a place of some good memories, although as he got closer to the exit on the far end he saw a very official sign in Neocybex demanding GROUND FRAMES PROCEED TO LIFT (someone had scrawled beneath it ‘THAT INCLUDES YOU, BLAST OFF.’) Stepping reluctantly inside, Skyfire was startled by the sight of a massive tag covering the doors, this one declaring ‘NO GROUNDERS’ with a cartoon of a decapitated ground frame mech.

“Seekers: territorial,” explained Soundwave as the lift dropped, its movement alarmingly fast.

“I can see that,” said Skyfire, trying to ignore the fact that there were yet more spike drawings inside of the lift, and wondering what the seekers’ problem had been with Blast Off.

“Seekers: resent Blast Off belonging to a gestalt,” said Soundwave. “Air Commander Starscream: still has ultimate command of him in aerial combat.”

Skyfire looked at Blast Off and immediately regretted it - the mech seemed to be having a_ moment_ with Vortex, the two staring at each other and giggling for no apparent reason. He snapped his gaze back to the weird blue telepath, “So, um, do you mecha have jet grade?”

Judging by the way that Blast Off and Vortex immediately burst out laughing, Soundwave’s creepily calm reply of “Negative,” was unnecessary, but Skyfire appreciated it anyway. Apparently the Decepticon fuel shortages which the Autobots had claimed were true - hopefully he wasn’t going to starve.

“Professor Skyfire: will not starve,” said Soundwave, making every piece of plating on Skyfire’s frame momentarily stand on end and making their companions snicker harder. The lift ground to an unpleasant halt and Skyfire reluctantly stepped out into a hallway which was mercifully devoid of spike drawings but somehow its sterility made the place far less charming. Hulking mechs with glaring eyes stopped to eye Skyfire and he hurried after Soundwave, feeling like there was a laser focus on the stasis cuffs binding his wrists, and his unbranded frame. Snickers and soft growls followed them, and Skyfire forced himself to think of the nastier members of the Autobots. He wondered how the Decepticons perceived him - as an enemy, or as something beneath their notice, like a smushable organic.

They turned into what had clearly once been the control room for the entire warship, a place which had surely once been as full of life as the flight deck which Starscream’s seekers had called home, and Skyfire saw, set at the middle of it, a menacing, dark throne, complete with a menacing mech upon it - the imposing tankformer, Megatron of Tarn.

Starscream’s abuser.

All fantasies of demanding an apology for the affronts to his amica’s delicate person instantly died - the big grey tankformer was almost as large as Skyfire was, and the infamous fusion canon seemed disproportionately gigantic, Skyfire instantly wondering if the thing gave its owner back problems. 

“Soundwave, you have brought me Professor Skyfire of Iacon,” purred Megatron. Skyfire could immediately see how mecha had once flocked to the mech’s banner - his voice was attention-catching, his Neocybex clear despite his distinct low caste Tarnish accent. The mech scowled down at Skyfire, and Skyfire thought that Megatron had probably lost a lot of his charm over the war’s long vorns, especially as he decided, “The perfect bait - now Starscream will be mine again.”

Soundwave was silent and Skyfire gulped, praying that Starscream wouldn’t sacrifice his newsparks for him. Realizing what he was thinking in whose presence, he stiffened, but Soundwave had no reaction - perhaps he was not listening to Skyfire's mind just then.

“Have you heard, shuttle?” smiled Megatron poisonously. “Your dear friend Starscream grew up while you were frozen; he’s my Air Commander now, and soon, thanks to you, he will bear my heir.”

Skyfire cycled his optics in surprise.

“I’ll make sure that he has no choice,” smirked Megatron, lifting his many tonne weight from his ridiculous throne (Skyfire belatedly decided that it was actually a glorified captain’s chair,) and stepping towards him. “If he doesn’t submit, I’ll torture you. If, after that, he still doesn’t spread his legs and bear his spark, I’ll kill you. If that doesn’t get the little glitch’s attention, I’ll torture his trine, then I’ll frag him in front of them. Then, I’ll keep them imprisoned until my heir is an adult, and able to blast their helms off with his own fusion canon - then I’ll spark Starscream again.”

Skyfire’s spark fluttered weakly - he was too terrified to speak, which given the circumstances, was probably a very good thing, because Megatron sounded completely serious.

Megatron sneered, clearly wholly pleased with himself, and barked, “Soundwave! Keep him secured - and make sure that Starscream knows that we have him.”

Soundwave dipped his helm and Skyfire eagerly followed him out of the room, not caring where the telepath took him, so long as it was as far away as possible from his psychotic master.


	30. Proposing Futures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which young Starscream weaponizes his little brother, meets a new friend, and goes to two very different parties.

Starscream found how exaggeratedly worried all of his kin were very annoying; as soon as he had been off the military transport - immaculately gleaming with his wing brand on proud display thanks to Slater - he had been attacked by idiots. First and foremost, both sobbing their optics out, were Strut and Comet. He had no idea why they were so sad - it defeated logic entirely, and he grimaced as he was squeezed between them until he saw Slater’s watchful gaze - then he started exclaiming about how much he had missed them too. He had, actually, so this wasn’t entirely a lie, but he still found his brother and carrier ridiculous nonetheless. Courageflight pounced on him next and he barely managed to pretend to be sorry before his cousin snap-whispered into his audial, “What’re you sorry for? I’m proud of you! You’re working on proving that reproductive coding doesn’t matter!”

Flushed and warmed to the spark that he hadn’t lost his cousin’s support, he found himself facing the part of his family which weren’t so pleased. He was lectured, well and thoroughly, the Winglord angry that he had caused distress to his kin, and he was ordered to attend Comet - as well as the suspected ball to celebrate the birth of Starscream’s newest siblings. He was ushered to his creator’s room and under the glares of almost every elder in his family, he was forced to hold the puny, useless, wiggling forms of his newborn siblings, who were exactly as revoltingly drooly as he had told Slater that they would be. Although he privately stubbornly found them hideous, the puny things barely looking at all like seekers, seeming to be mainly blobs with stubby limbs, teensy wing nubs and huge optics, he pretended hard that they were cute. 

They were so young that none of them had designations yet and Starscream was desperately longing for a cloth to cleanse the sparkling drool off of his refined person when Yellowstreak heaved himself into Starscream’s lap with an imperious squeak. The yellow and black seekerling settled himself on Starscream’s thigh, then to the great amusement of their elders, proceeded to make a bunch of sparkling seeker sounds which sounded suspiciously like he was telling Starscream off for being gone. 

Mercifully, Yellowstreak’s appearance meant that he got to stop holding their newborn siblings, and Nightglow reluctantly supplied him a cloth, because apparently Yellowstreak wasn’t a fan of sparkling drool either (despite the fact that he drooled nearly as much when he was in recharge.) Starscream decided to make proper use of Yellowstreak’s comraderie - he lugged the little glitch around the suite and Yellowstreak, being a sparkling himself, quickly forgot any reason to be grumpy. Because Yellowstreak apparently didn’t like their new siblings, he was excellent newborn seekerling repellent and Comet glowingly told Starscream that he was ‘doing her a favour by keeping Yellow company.’

Starscream snorted - Yellowstreak was doing _him_ a favour by deflecting the angry glares of their elders. The little brat was a weapon which he intended to employ as much as possible while he was forced to be at home.

“Starscream, Yellowstreak is too young to come to the celebration ball,” laughed Comet joyfully that afternoon as Starscream was nodding off at the edge of the nest with Yellowstreak in his lap. “He has to stay here. I can’t even go - I could barely greet you at the platform.”

Starscream jerked awake and stared at her, “Carrier, you’re not going to your own celebration?”

Comet giggled inanely, “Star, I get my own little celebration in here. Missilefire’s gotten me a bunch of my very favourite treats, and your grandcarrier on my side is going to keep me company, as well as my sister!”

Starscream instantly wanted to be in on this party instead of the other party. “Can’t I stay with you then? That sounds way more fun than a ball.”

“No, silly,” laughed Comet, “you have to go meet mecha. You only have a centravorn to trine, Star, so you must use this ball to court.”

At _court_ Starscream wanted to hurl. He managed to squeak, “Um, okay, Carrier,” and bolted for the wash rack. He set Yellowstreak in the sink to keep him from accidentally hurting himself (because as a sparkling Yellowstreak was naturally very dumb,) and stared at his reflection, desperately wondering if there was anything that he could do to make himself unappealing without breaking royal decorum. Nightglow stepped in, looking ready to lecture him again, only to huff as Lord Goldtrace, the Winglord’s carrier-mate, blustered past, snapping, “Nightglow, out - Starscream, I’ll help you get pretty for the suitors.”

Starscream had always liked Goldtrace best of the winglord’s trinemates; Courageflight was the most like her. He looked at her pleadingly and she snorted, “You’re not getting out of it, Star, I’m sorry. You need to be available for courting.”

“Is Winglord -” started Starscream.

“Is _Aunt Quicksilver,”_ corrected Goldtrace, picking up Yellowstreak and carrying him to the wash rack door, then setting him down with a pet, encouraging him, “Go find Sire Miss, Yellow! I think he has a treat for you!”

Yellowstreak abandoned Starscream faster than a shot and Goldtrace turned back to Starscream, “Starscream, yes, Quicksilver, Quick, Mercury, whatever you want to call her - _except Winglord_ \- demands that you be there for the whole thing. She demands that you speak with suitors, let them admire you, and that you be courteous in return. Be the well-behaved and beautiful royal that you were raised as and you’ll be allowed to return to Iacon. Be an annoying glitch and you’ll be drooled on by your youngest siblings instead.”

“You admit that it’s gross,” hissed Starscream in an undertone.

“Only when they’re not yours,” hissed Goldtrace back. “They can’t even hardly crawl yet, Starscream, give them a break, they’re still learning to squeak at mecha.” She pushed him under the solvent stream, demanding, “Now, remind me what you’re going to be?”

“Courteous,” grumbled Starscream.

“Yes, and you’re going to preen because you’re fabulous so that all the untrined will be coming close to see if you resonate,” said Goldtrace. Starscream shuddered, but she ignored him and thus Starscream found himself standing in the grand ballroom, polished to the nines, his resplendent plating disturbingly sparkly. Strut stood beside him, also polished to a high shine, and having latched onto the hope that he might spend the evening distracted by his brother, Starscream was extremely disgruntled when Strut ditched him the nanoklik that he saw Cloudbreak enter the room. He glared after his brother and reminded of what Goldtrace had told him, he tried to look haughty rather than as fully annoyed as he actually was. The only member of his creation trine present was Killjoy, so Starscream lurked beside him until his sire gave him an impatient look and Starscream reluctantly set out alone into the crowd, bee-lining for the treat table.

“Starscream! Prince Starscream!” exclaimed the hated voice of Freshnote. She was giggling idiotically and clinging to the arm of a pleased looking young mech who didn’t seem to have any problems with Freshnote dragging him over, “Check it out! I’m engaged!”

“How nice,” said Starscream; he attempted to sound like he cared and he was pleased as he sounded somewhat genuine. Unfortunately, Freshnote thought that he was genuine because she gave a shriek of joy, then started detailing the unwanted story of how she had met her suitor, who spent the entire conversation eying Starscream over as if he was wanting to frag him. Revolted, Starscream looked around for a polite excuse to leave and he was about to abandon Freshnote in order to follow Lord General Swiftbreeze around (surely her presence would scare idiots away,) when his spark swooped, causing his wings to jam vertical. Freshnote’s prattle faded off, the femme looking delighted, and Starscream whirled around in panic to find himself facing none other than the dreaded General Tanzing - this time, complete with trinemate.

“Oooo, I’ll leave you to it, Prince Starscream!” giggled Freshnote, and she grabbed her suitor by the servo, dragging the poor idiot away to a safe distance from which she would presumably watch everything, then gossip about every klik of Starscream’s living Pit to her terrible friends. At the flicker of camera flashes, Starscream knew that the entire population of Vos would be witness to it as well before the next orn was out - the paparazzi were watching just as eagerly as Freshnote was.

“Prince Starscream, you look very beautiful tonight,” purred General Tanzing, his wings spread as if to make sure that Starscream admired them. Starscream struggled to keep his gaze away from them, which was surprisingly easy with Tanzing’s trinemate there, as Starscream didn’t know where to look anymore, and for some reason his processor wasn’t letting him look anywhere else. His spark was flaring like mad from their proximity as if it wanted to reach out and it took him a klik to realize that the soft purring he heard was his own, but he couldn’t work out whether it was because he was terrified or excited, because he horribly felt both despite what he thought of Tanzing as a general.

“Thank you,” Starscream managed to brokenly articulate, finally backing up against the treat table’s hard edge and feeling distinctly cornered, as if the fragger had tactically manoeuvred him there.

“This is my trinemate, Lieutenant Darklight,” said General Tanzing smoothly, indicating his trinemate, who was showing off with his wings just as much as Tanzing was. Up close, he was much more impressive than he was from a distance and he wasn’t totally grey like Starscream had thought - he had dark red wingtips. Starscream managed to tear his glance away, looking for help, and found the Winglord watching him steadily from her dais. Frag.

“It’s absolutely wonderful to make your acquaintance, Prince Starscream,” said Lieutenant Darklight smugly. 

_Frag off!_ Starscream wanted to cry, but his aunt was watching, so he managed, “It is good to meet you as well, Lieutenant.” _No it wasn’t!_ He forced a gentile smile, “I hope that you’re enjoying the ball?”

“We’d enjoy it more if you’d dance with us,” said General Tanzing, holding out a servo imploringly, Starscream feeling desperately torn internally as his spark practically screamed at him to take it while his processor spat expletives.

And somehow, horribly, quite against his processor’s control, his spark won, Starscream panicking internally as he placed his hand in Tanzing’s. The fragger smiled and he pulled Starscream away from the treat table, Starscream feeling powerless to stop him as Darklight strode behind him, Starscream dead certain that the mech was staring at his aft. As they reached the dance floor the orchestra started up a new song and Starscream was horrified to hear that it was a love ballad instead of a quicker paced song which would have allowed him to keep some distance from Tanzing and Darklight.

“Starscream, it feels so good to finally spend time with you,” purred General Tanzing, pulling him close, resting his free servo on Starscream’s hip with apparent relish. The dance began and Starscream frantically thought of Iacon, of flying laps around an appreciative Skyfire - the shuttle liked watching him do tricks; it was one of their things together. Starscream thought desperately of how much he liked gloating over his grades but thanks to his ridiculous spark, his smile wasn’t as forced as he would have liked as one of the dance’s steps caused him to step cockpit-to-cockpit with General Tanzing, who then passed him gracefully to Darklight, both of them seeming very pleased indeed as the ballad reached its end. Darklight pulled Starscream close into the most awkward hug ever, purring to Tanzing, “I vote that we keep him.”

“Oh, I agree,” smiled General Tanzing, hugging both of them, Starscream feeling distinctly trapped wedged between their frames. “He’s perfect, isn’t he? Starscream, we’re in love, you’re magnificent.”

Starscream’s stupid carrier-spark was all over this; meanwhile, his processor screamed like a traumatized sparkling. His spark made him thank them and they seemed about to steer him into the next song when General Slater appeared as if summoned by Primus Himself. Tanzing flinched and Darklight took a hurried step backwards as Slater snatched Starscream by the wrist, declaring, “I’ll be taking this back now, he’s not for you, mecha.”

“We’ll see what Winglord Mercury has to say about that, Slater,” growled General Tanzing.

“Sure thing, you do that - but Prince Starscream’s still getting used to his upgrades, so servos off the goods,” snapped Slater, Starscream attempting not to look like he was huddling against his saviour too much. Slater sneered, “Have a nice night, Tanzing; come along, my prince.”

Starscream was only too happy to ‘come along’ as Slater led him across the room to where Courageflight was quite blatantly slacking off with his sisters, none of whom were courting and all of which were even more blatantly hiding from their creation trine.

“Here; join the fellowship of princes avoiding suitors,” declared Slater, scooting Starscream into their midst.

“Was that really Tanzing you were dancing with?” asked Stardust, disgusted.

“Their sparks resonate, it’s not as if he had much say,” huffed Courageflight defensively, snatching Starscream and hugging him. “You know what that feels like, Stardust.”

“Yeah, feels like slag,” sighed Stardust.

“No it doesn’t!” protested Softclaw. “I like my suitors - I’m sad that they couldn’t make it!”

“Well, you’re weird,” said Courageflight.

“Courageflight, the only reason you say that is because Flamesong isn’t here too. If Flamesong were here -” hissed Softclaw.

“- I’d be pulling him behind a curtain and fragging him, yes,” smirked Courageflight. “But Flamesong’s not like Tanzing - Tanzing’s an idiot; Flamesong is a special and beautiful specimen of seeker perfection who can do no wrong.”

Starscream groaned and suffered through the rest of the ball listening to conversations of this ilk until Lord Quartzash discovered their hiding place in the corner. Starscream didn’t see Strut at all and he left it a joor after it was polite to, after Courageflight finally decided to leave, professing that he had important business with the treat stash hidden in his room.

* * *

Starscream made sure to be as gracious as possible and his simpering was rewarded when he was released back into Iacon’s skies, just in time for the next semester to begin. His relatives having agreed after a lot of very annoying debate that Iacon was having a positive effect on him, Starscream took a victory flight to celebrate the instance that his royal escorts were gone. He accidentally ran into Scattershot and his service trine during it, but their lack of etiquette was very refreshing after suffering through the royal court of Vos, so Starscream refrained from shooting at them. The next orn he gleefully attended his classes and listened happily to Skyfire detailing his break’s adventures. They were halfway through lunch when Skyfire asked, “So what’d you do?”

“Oh, just visited with family,” smiled Starscream.

“How were your new siblings?” grinned Skyfire. “I bet they were super cute.”

“They were hideous and they drooled constantly,” said Starscream. He pinged Skyfire a capture to prove it, but it backfired when the soppy shuttle looked annoyingly endeared instead.

“Star, they’re adorable!” beamed Skyfire. “They’re so tiny!”

“Well, they are _Seeker,”_ grumbled Starscream, unimpressed by Skyfire’s reaction. He was even more unimpressed when Skyfire asked for more pictures but he sent them anyway, desperately trying to prove that his infant siblings were hideous, but to no avail. 

“Starscream, why don’t you like seekerlings?” asked Skyfire as they left class for the cafeteria, where Starscream intended thoroughly to indulge in the drink of vengeance known as low grade. (Which was terrible but he needed to feel better about himself.)

“They’re horrible, and seekers expect carrier-coded seekers to have hordes of them,” growled Starscream. “Seekers breed like fragging petrorabbits.”

Skyfire stopped for a klik as if needing to process this before intelligently asking, “Are you carrier-coded, Starscream?”

“No,” said Starscream, too quickly.

“You are, aren’t you?” said Skyfire perceptively. “That’s why you want to live here?”

“Obviously!” squawked Starscream. “I hate sparklings, they’re terrible, and I don’t want to contribute to Vos’ population density! I would be stuck there forever!”

“Well, there’s not really other seekers here… so I think you’re fine,” said Skyfire, touching his shoulder. Starscream glared at him, dearly wanting to protest that being in Iacon didn’t make him safe from his fate at all, when a cheery shout interrupted them.

“Starscream, Skyfire, how are you?” exclaimed Dean Flashpoint, hustling up with the friendly looking orange mech whom Starscream had seen with him the day that he had arrived. “I’m sorry that I haven’t had a chance to check up on you before now! It’s so good to see you both looking well!”

“Hello, Dean Flashpoint,” said Starscream, pleased by their benefactor’s appearance (Skyfire had told Starscream that Flashpoint had been directly involved in his enrollment too.) “We’re doing well, right, Skyfire?”

“Yeah, university’s great,” grinned Skyfire.

“I’m so happy to see that you two have become friends,” beamed Dean Flashpoint (did the mech ever stop smiling? Starscream doubted it.) He gestured to his companion, who was carrying yet another pile of datapads, “This is my aide, Longdrive; he’s been helping a lot with our Flight Frame Initiative too - on that note, since you two are doing so well, I was wondering if perhaps you might join us at a gala tonight? I want to showcase you as a positive example of what mecha of your frame types can do when given the chance, and I wanted to discuss an idea that I have.”

“An idea?” asked Starscream interestedly.

“An opportunity,” winked Longdrive. “The gala will start at twenty-fifth joor at the Sterling Conference Building - I’ll be waiting for you two outside the doors.”

“We’ll be there,” promised Skyfire. The two grounders nodded their thanks then hurried off to wherever they were needed, Skyfire grinning, “Sounds important.”

“It’s the perfect opportunity for us to be noticed, dear Skyfire,” smirked Starscream, rocking his weight onto one pede to strike a pose and flaring his wings, causing several nearby grounders to stare even harder than they already had been at the sight of the dean being so friendly with flight frames. Starscream ignored them and studied his claws, “We’d best get good polish on, Sky.”

Skyfire was apparently struck by a bout of staring at Starscream too because it took him a klik to clue in. “What? Oh, polish, yeah! Um, I guess I better go home and take care of that - meet you at your dorm at twenty-four?”

“See you then,” chirped Starscream. Skyfire nodded and they parted ways, Starscream gleefully flying to his dorm building. He entered his room through the window as he usually did (all the better to avoid Ridgeline,) and paused in the middle of it, thinking hard. Starscream, by order of Killjoy, was supposed to fly to a fancy spa which his family had paid off any time he wanted cleaning rather than use the dorm wash rack, but he knew full well that the spa would report that he had been there, especially if he did anything unusual, like polish himself up special. The dorm wash rack was doubtlessly unsanitary, but if he used it then the palace wouldn’t know, and there would be no evidence linking him to the gala in case he didn’t want them knowing about what Flashpoint had to propose.

Making up his mind, he grabbed a bottle of polish which he had bought one orn when he had been at the spaceport with Skyfire for just such an occasion and unlocked his door, stepping cautiously out into the hallway in case Ridgeline was there. Finding it mercifully devoid of annoying truckformers, he scooted over to the wash rack, which he thought illogically large until he considered that it was probably made to be big enough to hold a convoy. Thankfully, it was also empty of mecha whom he shared his dorm with and he popped smugly inside, starting up the solvent then standing happily beneath the mercifully warm solvent flow. If he could get over how weird the place smelled, and the suspicious stains, the wash rack was amazingly tolerable. The solvent was probably substandard, being supplied free to the students, but at least it was solvent instead of cheap dihydrogen monoxide, so it shouldn’t leave weird marks on his plating.

Just as he was relishing the sheer convenience of the wash rack being only steps away from his room, he was reminded why his sire had not wanted him going anywhere near it as a big, ugly brown grounder suddenly eclipsed the only door.

“Um, hi,” said Starscream pleasantly, deciding instantly that polishing should probably be undertaken in his room. He hastily turned off the shower and backed away from it, preferring it to the massive frame suddenly taking up a third of the room, chirping, “Here, the wash rack’s yours, I’m done!” In the face of the way that the mech was looking at him, who cared if he wasn’t dry yet? He’d rather drip all over the grotesque carpet in the hallway and suffer Ridgeline’s whining then get his wings groped by the hulking creeper.

“Seeker… you’re Starscream, right?” asked the grounder without moving, as if remembering other mecha’s designations was a difficult task for him.

“Amazing, yes, that is me,” agreed Starscream. “I’m going back to my dorm now.”

The idiot didn’t take the hint. He smiled creepily and Starscream noticed that a few of his denta were missing as he declared, “You’re pretty.”

“Thank you - and you’re not,” said Starscream. “Do you mind unblocking the door? I need to get going.”

Brown Idiot just frowned at him, “You think I’m not pretty?”

Why the frag would anyone find Brown Idiot pretty? Starscream smiled hastily, because Brown Idiot also happened to be twice as large as him, “Actually, while I appreciate a compliment as much as the next mech, you’re not my type.”

Brown Idiot took a step towards him, Starscream squawking as the mech proceeded steadily closer, _“Literally!_ You are not Seeker and being Seeker, I’m only interested in other seekers, get it? You know - you don’t have wings, just tires, and tires are just sort of… dirty, to me. I mean, they touch the ground -”

“Hey, Gauge, stop hogging the wash rack!” snapped an imperious femme voice which mercifully wasn’t Ridgeline’s. Brown Idiot (apparently Gauge,) stopped in his tracks and looked inconvenienced by the interruption as a small pink two wheeler grounder stalked into the wash rack with them, snapping, “You’re always in here, you’re prissier than a -” she abruptly noticed Starscream.

“He said I wasn’t pretty,” said Gauge, obviously very put off by this.

“You’re not, Gauge, you’re a fragging dump truck,” smirked the pink grounder. “Stop scaring the seeker, you’re creeping him out.”

“I am not,” said Gauge, adding resentfully, “I complimented him. I said he was pretty.”

“That’s creepy, Gauge,” Pink informed him. She smiled at Starscream, “I’m Muffler; you’re welcome for the rescue, did Gauge interrupt you?”

“I was done anyway,” lied Starscream uncertainly.

“Gauge!” protested Muffler. “You totally interrupted him too! Get out of here - you can shower all night when everyone else is in berth! Right now I need it and the seeker needs it!”

“But -” said Gauge.

“No, go on!” ordered Muffler and to Starscream’s amazement Gauge lumbered away as if Muffler was bigger than him rather than even shorter than Starscream was, the femme practically a minibot. She smiled brightly at Starscream, “Shower’s all ours - you’re Starscream, right? Ridgeline won’t shut up about you.”

“I’m sorry,” said Starscream warily.

“Don’t be, Ridgeline’s a slagheap and I hope it’s not creepy to admit, but I like watching you fly, it’s badaft,” said Muffler. She grinned, “You’re amazing in the air, I think you change direction faster than I do, and I’m pretty agile for my frame type.”

“Thanks,” said Starscream hesitantly, and since she didn’t seem lecherous like Gauge, he finished his shower. Muffler chattered the whole time, Starscream slowly deciding to his shock that she was nice for a grounder (a rarity,) and he cautiously asked her about what she studied, at which she happily told him about her biology studies, then offered him her notes if he ever needed them since she was a vorn ahead of him. Somehow, he found himself helping her with her polish (she was going on a date that evening,) and she helped him with his, Muffler hotly declaring, “I hate Functionists! Their whole platform is so awful, and nobody realizes it! If they actually bothered to look up when a seeker or rotor or whatever flies by, they’d see that you mecha are beautiful, plus you can do slag which they can only dream of. They’re jealous, that’s what they are.”

“And our engines aren’t any louder,” grumbled Starscream resentfully.

“Exactly, have you heard Pumper run his stupid engine? I swear you can hear that idiot from clear across campus, he’s such an idiot,” growled Muffler. “Ridgeline’s always complaining about your thrusters, but I’ve been paying attention to my chrono and you rarely ever takeoff outside of noise curfew.”

“I try to walk out of audial range afterwards,” admitted Starscream.

“Exactly! I heard Ridgeline’s stupid engine going off four joors past noise curfew the other orn, so she can eat slag,” said Muffler. “Speaking of time though, I think it’s time we both left for our evenings! Seriously though, if you and Skyfire want you’re welcome to study with me.”

“Skyfire’s actually going to meet me here,” said Starscream.

“Well, I’ll introduce myself to him another orn,” said Muffler. “Seeya! Wish me luck!”

“Have fun,” said Starscream, still confused over having met a fellow student who wasn’t a pile of rusting scrap for processors. Skyfire arrived a breem later and exclaimed appropriately over how nice he thought Starscream looked, Starscream snorting because Skyfire looked almost exactly the same as always. Also, his infernally hilarious wing lights were on, which amused Starscream all the way to the gala, where a grinning Longdrive declared his own approval of their polish then led them inside. Within, the place was crammed with ground frames, but for once, Starscream realized that he and Skyfire weren’t entirely alone. Longdrive led them straight over to Flashpoint, who was talking to another flight frame, Starscream stiffening hard the instance that he realized that it was another seeker.

“Ahh, there they are! Brainstorm, this is Starscream and Skyfire, our students!” exclaimed Flashpoint joyously. “Starscream, Skyfire, I’m so glad that you could come; Brainstorm here is one of our field professors - that means that he doesn’t teach, and instead studies things for the university. I’m quite hoping that you might consider a future as a field professor like him.”

“Hello,” said Starscream uneasily as the other seeker’s gaze raked over him.

“Hi!” grinned Skyfire. “It’s great to meet you, Professor Brainstorm, sir!”

“It is good to meet you as well,” said Brainstorm, dipping his helm but making an exaggerated salute with his wings which told Starscream that the scientist knew exactly who he was. Starscream flicked his back accordingly and gritted his denta behind his lips, certain instantly that the fragger would be telling Vos all about this.

“So, Starscream, Skyfire; I was thinking,” grinned Flashpoint, missing this exchange entirely, “the University has a need for an interstellar exploration department, however ground frames are very unsuited to it. You’re both doing fantastically well at your studies, so I wanted to pose it as a future career option. Continue to do as great as you have, and you could make tremendous discoveries some orn for Iacon and the university - what do you say?”

“Travel to other worlds?” asked Skyfire, optics huge. 

Starscream didn’t need to think about it - it was like Flashpoint had just handed him a bowlful of freedom on a silver platter. His family’s reach would not extend into space - far beyond Cybertron, he would be at complete liberty, and he would have a way to answer his potential. He forced himself to trust that Brainstorm, living in Iacon, might not have royal contacts, and chirped, “Sounds fantastic, sir, I’d certainly be in. I’d love to explore the universe.”

Skyfire ex-vented, “Well… if you’re in, Starscream, I guess I am.”

“Then keep studying, mecha,” grinned Flashpoint, “and some orn, I’ll make sure that you have the opportunity to bring us the treasures of the stars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for today, folks! Believe it or not I'm currently writing the last few chapters of this, so soon it'll just be editing and potentially a few rewrites left. Thanks for reading!


	31. Constructicons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fearful Skyfire finds himself facing one the the Decepticons' most infamous gestalts - the Constructicons!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions an attack on humans on a grand scale by the Decepticons. Please keep in mind that these are sophisticated space aliens, and that humans are pretty much bugs to them.

Skyfire’s processor was flying faster than a seeker as he considered the implications of Megatron’s threats. The tankformer obviously didn’t know that Starscream was already sparked - but that was sure to change any klik with the telepath Soundwave escorting him through the bowels of the sunken _Nemesis._ He eyed the back of the outlier’s helm nervously, wishing that there was some way of undoing what he had already thought in the mech’s presence, or shielding his mind from the mech’s intrusion. If Starscream had not been in danger before, now Skyfire had put him in triple peril, because he had underestimated the Decepticons, seen them as not a threat despite everything which the Autobots had told him. They were clearly dangerous mecha - and Skyfire didn’t know where Soundwave was taking him, but it clearly wasn’t good.

The _trt-trt-trt_ of Ravage’s four pedes as the not-cybercat trotted along ahead and the leers of mean looking Decepticons whom they passed was making it even harder to think as Skyfire struggled to think of a way to escape or warn his amica. Nothing was coming to mind, and his panicked, weak little spark as well as his twinging, reattached wing kept reminding him that he wasn’t cleared for flight even if he could get back above the surface of the ocean. Skyfire literally had no way back to the Ark - so it was probably the brig for him, or some torture room, or -

Soundwave led him past a window looking into a larger, brightly lit room and pressed a button on a wall, a door swishing open to omit them. Skyfire stepped inside and dug in his heels as the smell of strong sanitation chemicals hit his olfactory sensor. In brilliant contrast to the rest of the ship, which seemed to sport unpainted, unpleasantly stained steel for its walls, the large room which Soundwave had led him into was clinical, clean, gleaming white. Polished metal countertops and cabinets made up one wall, and neatly situated medical berths filled it, complete with all the proper monitoring equipment. There was adjustable overhead lighting for doing surgeries, neat trays full of surgical tools on trolleys tucked out of the way yet ready for action, and the medical berths even had pristine looking sheets with crisply folded thermal blankets, unlike the ones in Ratchet’s medical bay.

It was a hospital. A real, actual hospital. It was small, with limited berths, but it was a hospital nonetheless, and Skyfire fought against the sense of peace which the familiarity of the place gave him. It _felt_ like Cybertron - for the first time since flying away from Iacon, he felt like he was home again.

“Professor Skyfire: will come,” ordered Soundwave, and Skyfire realized that the mech was waiting for him by another door set in an interior wall of the hospital sporting windows which looked onto the main ward. He followed the telepath inside, and was immediately surprised again, for the room beyond seemed to be half extention of the hospital outside - complete with some secure hospital rooms and high tech looking regeneration tubes - plus workshop. There was a desk in one corner near the tubes, where a visored green and purple grounder mech was sitting in a chair in front of a monitor on a desk that also had datapads stacked on it; behind him on the wall was a painting of Crystal City. Another green and purple grounder was in the workshop area, seemingly in the midst of creating frame parts from scratch, a small forge wafting welcome heat.

“Hmm?” said the grounder at the desk; it looked like he turned into some variety of construction equipment. He peered around at them, “Oh, Soundwave? What’s this? Where’d he come from?”

“Answer: Professor Skyfire of Iacon, currently neutral scientist,” said Soundwave in his weird, mechanical voice. “Has been attempting to create jet grade onboard the _Ark.”_

“Well, clearly that’s a project more worthy of our faction,” sneered the Decepticon. He nodded to the other green and purple mech, who was wearing a facemask. “Wouldn’t you agree, Scrapper? We have far more flight frames than the Autobots do - at least usually.”

“Indeed, but I wonder why he hasn’t already chosen a faction,” said Scrapper, frowning intensely at Skyfire, at which a door which Skyfire hadn’t even noticed before opened, admitting three more purple and green mechs as if they had overheard that something interesting was going on.

“Um, I was frozen in an ice sheet since before the war, I didn’t even know about it until recently,” said Skyfire nervously.

“Hmm, probably has spark damage; we’ll see to that, Soundwave,” decided the first Decepticon. “No doubt that slagheap Ratchet is too incompetent to deal with it properly.”

To Skyfire’s shame, he was too intimidated to defend the medic who had felt the most like a friend of all the Autobots.

“Well, welcome to the _Nemesis,_ Professor Skyfire; I am Scrapper and this is my gestalt; we are the Constructicons and we form Devastator,” declared Scrapper. He pointed to each of the green and purple mechs in turn, starting with the snobby medic, “That’s Hook who is our chief medical officer and my second in command, that’s Mixmaster, that’s Bonecrusher, Long Haul and Scavenger.”

“Um, hi,” squeaked Skyfire intelligently.

“You can work with Mixmaster, he’s our chemist,” decided Scrapper, nodding again to the slightly deranged looking Constructicon. Skyfire wondered what processor issues the Decepticons were riddled with from being at war for so long.

“Heya,” said Mixmaster, seeming friendly enough despite not particularly looking like a mech whom Skyfire wanted to go anywhere near.

“First before you do any experiments with energon I want spark readouts, Scrapper,” said Hook disdainfully “I want to know what kind of slag that Autoglitch may have missed.”

“Constructicons: will keep Professor Skyfire secure and safe. He is not to leave medical bay,” ordered Soundwave, turning on heel. “Lord Megatron: intends to use him as bait for Air Commander Starscream’s return.”

“Oh, he’s a prisoner?” asked Scrapper, making Skyfire flinch.

Soundwave stopped and peered back over his shoulder, “Negative. Ravage: will stay and observe.”

“Of course, Soundwave,” said Scrapper, bowing his helm as Ravage sat on his haunches and resumed staring up at Skyfire. The Constructicon leader clapped his servos together, “Well? Get up on a medical berth, Professor, and we’ll get Hook his readouts, then you can start working with Mixmaster. I will say, your goal of making proper jet grade will be a tremendous boon to our forces, especially our seeker corps; they’ll recover from injuries sustained in battle much faster on proper nutrition. A very honourable project which I’m afraid we just haven’t had time for - what you see now in our humble medical bay is actually a rare lull, I’m afraid. We’ve been going into battle practically every other orn lately, and there’s almost always mecha to fix afterwards, sadly. Very little recharge for us - we Decepticons work hard, so your help is appreciated.”

Skyfire sat reluctantly on a medical berth, and winced as the monitoring equipment was attached by Scrapper himself and Long Haul, who seemed to additionally serve as Hook’s nursing staff. Hook wandered over and started jotting things down on a datapad, Bonecrusher remarking, “S’why does Sounders think you’re bait for Screamer?”

Skyfire winced; did the Decepticons really use the dumb nicknames too? He had hoped that they would have a little more respect for his amica. “I used to know the air commander before the war - we used to work together, we were both field professors for the University of Iacon. We surveyed planets, looking for energon and did other research. We were… work partners.” He didn’t dare say that Starscream had been his best friend.

“Heh, never thought Screamer ever had any friends who weren’t Seeker like him,” snorted Long Haul. “Except for a few weirdos like Skywarp those winged glitches stick to their own.” 

“It’s not as if recent history has given them any reason to branch out,” said Skyfire, unable to keep the testy tone from his voice. 

“The bombing of Vos is ancient history now, shuttlemech,” said Long Haul. “Our seekers hold their own just fine, so they don’t need you defending them, especially Starscream. Slaggers are vicious, and we’re damned glad that they’re on our side rather than the Autobots.’”

Skyfire opened his mouth to argue then thought better of it, watching the spark monitor instead which Hook was eying critically. “So, what do you think, Hook? Can you help my spark?”

“Shhh, shuttle! Of course he can!” hissed Bonecrusher.

“Hm, yes, it will take some time though, but you will recover,” decided Hook. He went digging in a cupboard and seized Skyfire’s arm, injecting him with a syringe before Skyfire had a chance to fully realize what he was doing.

“Ow!”

“Oh shut up, neutral, it’s just a needle,” sniffed Hook. “Those repair nanites will help fix your internal structural integrity to start.” Mixmaster, who had disappeared, returned from wherever the gestalt lived and handed Hook a very worn looking textpad, which he considered for a klik before handing to Skyfire with, “If you break that, I will kill you. It is my only copy.”

Skyfire powered it on and grinned in delighted surprise at the title:

**TRANSLATED MEDICAL ENCYCLOPAEDIC HANDBOOK FOR MEDICAL AND SURGICAL CARE OF SEEKERS**

Looking at the credits, he saw PRODUCED BY THE UNIVERSITY OF VOS FOR MEDICS TREATING SEEKERS LIVING ABROAD and he couldn’t repress the grin that grew on his face. He looked up eagerly at the Constructicons, “This has everything, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” confirmed Hook.

“It’s like our Holy Primal Text when we’re treating the seekers,” agreed Scrapper.

Skyfire typed in a search, and almost cried in relief when it immediately took him to a page dictating healthy line energon composition for an adult seeker as well as a mechling and seekerling, which were different. There were notes about correcting nutrition, and an entire glorious page dedicated to what was supposed to be in a seeker’s jet grade minerally, including the differences between it and ‘carrier-grade’ which was fed to carrier-coded seekers as well as their offspring aged under a decavorn. Skyfire wanted to cry he was so happy - here, in his servos, was the key to saving Starscream and his newsparks.

“Wow, he’s really getting emotional about this,” pondered Scavenger, scratching the back of his helm.

“This is what I’ve been needing! The Autobots didn’t have this!” exclaimed Skyfire, trying to impress what an incredible blessing the textpad was.

“Well, they’re Functionist slagheaps, aren’t they? Clearly we’re better than them,” snorted Bonecrusher.

“Scrapper, Mixmaster, can we get started? I really think I’ll be able to finally make jet grade now!” beamed Skyfire.

The Constructicons all glanced at each other, then shrugged, Scrapper deciding, “Sure, you’ll be like a conquering hero to the seekers when they finally return.”

“What happened with that?” asked Skyfire curiously as they detached the monitoring equipment from him.

“Starscream flew off to investigate something with his trine, they went MIA, then Megatron called in Shockwave’s seekers from Cybertron with the spacebridge to get rid of a little human problem we were having and they fragged off to parts unknown too,” snorted Scrapper. “Haven’t seen a single one since and I’ve never seen Megatron more furious. Always best to stay away from him; best stay in our inner sanctum here and avoid the main hospital part of our area where he might see you.”

“Thank you,” said Skyfire earnestly. He followed Scrapper and Mixmaster to Mixmaster’s little laboratory, where he was impressed to see proper equipment.

“We should have everything you might need,” said Scrapper. “Do you like music? We were about to play some - don’t tell anyone outside our gestalt though.”

“I love music,” said Skyfire, feeling like he was home on Cybertron, and not on a warship at all, especially as classical music from Crystal City played. “I have field medical training too, if you happen to need an extra servo.”

“We might appreciate that following a battle,” agreed Scrapper, and Skyfire gleefully set to work with Mixmaster, who was quite amiable once he started getting to know him. The mech even happily told him about how gestalts and combiners worked, which none of the Autobots had done. By the end of the orn, Skyfire felt like they had actual definable progress on the jet grade, and Hook had given him an injection of something which had made his spark feel a lot stronger. They let him stay in one of the private medical rooms (“You’ll have to ‘charge on the floor if someone actually needs it,”) and he actually felt relatively good about his circumstances as he sat down, the encounter with Megatron all but forgotten, except for his four-legged shadow who lay on the floor beneath the berth.

Ravage lifted his helm from his front pedes just as Skyfire was gratefully sitting on the medical berth and he felt his fuel pump jog at the sight of Soundwave in his doorway. The telepath shut the door behind him, commanding, “Professor Skyfire: will tell all about Air Commander Starscream.”

Skyfire gulped; there was no point hiding anything when the mech could read him like an open book, “He’s sparked. The Autobots captured him, put him into heat, caught his trine, drugged them all so that they couldn’t think straight, and now he’s carrying newsparks. The Autobots believe the other seekers have joined them and that they’re in South America somewhere.”

“Negative: seekers have abandoned South America,” said Soundwave.

“Oh. That’s new,” said Skyfire helplessly.

“Seekers: believed defected from Decepticon Cause,” said Soundwave.

Skyfire fidgeted, “So, uh, so Jazz believes.”

The faceless mech seemed to stare at him for a long moment. “Cybertronians: going extinct.”

“That’s… that’s what Ratchet said,” agreed Skyfire, desperately trying to keep himself calm. For a long klik Soundwave looked away from him, as if deep in thought or looking at something far away through the hull of the ship.

“Autobots: have new bridge technology,” stated Soundwave finally.

“Y-yes sir,” said Skyfire, surprised that the Decepticon already knew. “Wheeljack called it a ground bridge.”

Soundwave nodded. “Professor Skyfire: has made progress on jet grade?”

“Yes, more than I ever did on the _Ark,”_ said Skyfire.

“Good. Ravage: will continue guarding you,” ordered Soundwave, and with that the conversation was over, Soundwave walking away. Skyfire looked uncertainly at Ravage, who stretched and leapt onto the medical berth with him.

“We’re sharing,” Ravage informed him, and Skyfire rather reluctantly (since he had little space as it was,) ceded one side of the end of the berth to him. Ravage peered at him one last time, “If you kick me I will rip your pede off and let you bleed out.”

Skyfire hastily told his frame to be extremely still. 

* * *

With the right materials and information, Skyfire’s energon issues seemed to be over, especially because the seeker textpad had specific instructions for how to make a serviceable jet grade from low grade in a bind. The stuff really did not taste overly phenomenal, but it was actual jet grade, and thus Skyfire had a proper starting point for refining it, not to mention some better fuel for himself. The Constructicons were pleased with his progress, and Skyfire thought nothing of helping them out in the medical bay as promised after some mecha came in injured after a battle. He didn’t want to know how the mecha had been hurt, but he found out anyway, because it seemed that Decepticons liked to talk about how they had acquired their wounds just as much as injured Autobots did.  
The war felt more apparent now, having served in both factions’ medical bays, and yet just as Skyfire had suspected, the Decepticons were not the ghouls that Autobots like Sideswipe had made them out to be. Many of them were downright friendly, and while they were suspicious of the fact that he hadn’t chosen a faction yet, none of them pushed him about it, especially after Scrapper informed them that Skyfire was pulling his weight.

“Do you ever miss peace?” asked Skyfire of Mixmaster one orn as he was checking the composition of his prototype jet grade, Mixmaster inspecting the progress of a vat of repair nanites. Ravage sat watching from Hook’s desk, the medic helping an injured ground frame in the main room.

“Don’t really remember it,” shrugged Mixmaster, “but it’d be nice some orn to have orns off to rest and do fun things. I dunno if it’ll ever happen; not to speak ill of the big boss, especially in fronta ol’ Ravage, but it’s been a centravorn and we’re still sitting under this damned ocean even though the Nemesis ain’t never going to fly again. We’re stuck on this slaghole planet unless we get picked up by another Decepticon ship like the _Victory,_ or leave through the spacebridge.”

“Screamer’s got a real problem with it,” noted Scavenger, who was helping Scrapper melt scrap metal into spare part components. “He’s always going off about it. Drives Megatron crazy.”

“Yeah, well, Screamer’s a seeker, seekers can’t stand being separated from the sky for too long, it’s no wonder he’s gone,” huffed Scrapper. “They were fine with the ship when it was flight worthy, but the klik it crashed they started putting up a fuss, and if one thing seekers are really talented at, it’s fussing, Screamer especially. If he doesn’t like something, he lets you know about it _really_ fast!”

“Or he’ll sneer in Vosian behind your back,” snickered Long Haul. “Fraggers love having their own secret language!”

The general consensus, Skyfire found, was that most of the Decepticons had trouble recalling what a life without war had been like. The Autobots seemed to remember peace a little better, but like the Autobots, there were members of the Decepticon faction who hadn’t even been born yet when the war had started, so they had no concept of what normal life was like. Peace was like a fairytale to them - they had no idea, really, what it meant to go out for a movie, or the opera, or go to a store. There were a few Decepticons that Skyfire met, like Swindle, who even _liked_ being at war, yet Scrapper assured him, “There’s Autobots who like being at war too, Skyfire, they just won’t say it where Prime can hear, and don’t take anything Swindle says too seriously, he’d sell his own carrier if he thought that it would benefit him. He’s a damned profiteer.”

There were some Decepticons who immediately intimidated Skyfire, but in reflection, this was no different than meeting Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. The Decepticons at least respected seekers, and many of them even professed at missing seeing them around.

“We used to win more,” sighed Refractor one orn when Skyfire asked what they thought. “Onslaught might be bonded to two flight frames, but he doesn’t know slag about directing them in battle.”

“You know, the way we look at it, every frame type has something to offer,” said Scrapper. “We’re construction mecha, yeah? So we’re really good at building and destroying. Shuttles like you? You’re transport mecha, and seekers are aerial assault. But, just ‘cus that’s what you’re naturally best at, doesn’t mean that’s what you’re for - take me, I’m an engineer, and Hook’s a medic. A Functionist wouldn’t expect a construction crane to be a medic, would they? Nope! And you - you’re a scientist. Bet the Functionists didn’t like that!”

“They didn’t,” confirmed Skyfire.

“Variety’s the spice of life, Skyfire,” grinned Scrapper. “We say, down with Functionism! Drive your own road, or fly your own flight path; if you’re a telescope and but your passion is metallurgy, be my guest! And actually, we could use a metallurgist, haha.”

“I’m sorry that isn’t one of my talents,” smiled Skyfire.

“Hey, maybe we’ll find one some orn,” shrugged Scrapper. “It’s useful enough just having a dedicated scientist around, Screamer hasn’t been able to do much of that in a really long time.”

“What exactly does he do for the Decepticons?” asked Skyfire.

“Well, he leads our Air Force, he’s one of our top scientists - when he’s got time for that - and he’s a tactician,” said Scrapper. “Wins us lotsa battles, Screamer does, and you don’t wanna mess with him, ‘cus he’s ruthless.”

Skyfire enjoyed talking to the Constructicons - he liked getting their perspective on the war, and he thought that had he been present when the conflict had begun, he might have joined the Decepticons. Or, at least so he thought until he overheard Mixmaster talking about a past instance of them having used biological warfare on the Autobots - then he felt a bit ill for a while until he reminded himself that both sides had their vices, that both were evil in different ways. Besides being willing to inflict contagious rust plague on their enemies, the Decepticons also took a very different view on the planet’s native sentients. Humans, to the Decepticons, were mere annoying little pests, and they didn’t give a damn about if they killed some by accident. In fact, some of them found killing humans fun, if revoltingly messy, and Skyfire found himself feeling very glad that Witwicky was safe with the Autobots.

“Mostly humans are useful for provoking the Autoglitches,” snickered Bonecrusher. “Drop a bomb on their town or torch their forest and the Autoglitches come running every time.”

Skyfire carefully internalized his distress at this.

“Your spark readouts are improving,” noted Hook a few orns later. “I believe that you might try flying again soon, with Soundwave’s permission of course - just within the perimeter and for a short time only.”

“I’m feeling stronger,” agreed Skyfire.

“Of course you do, I’m an expert at repairing flight frames, unlike that hack the Autobots depend upon,” declared Hook imperiously. “The Decepticon Army depends on mecha like you for assault and transportation services you know. You’ll be useful for more than science soon enough.”

That evening, Scrapper stepped into the room Skyfire was using where he was studying the medical textpad again, trying to soak up as much as he could, greeting, “Hey, reading that again?”

“It’s fascinating,” professed Skyfire. “Actually not too dry either.”

“Whoever translated it did a good job,” agreed Scrapper. He held out a datapad, “Here, something else for you to read; kinda an important one for all us ‘cons.”

“Oh, what is it?” asked Skyfire, taking it.

“Just a good book,” smiled Scrapper, and he left, leaving Skyfire to read the title.

**TOWARDS PEACE**   
_By Megatron of Tarn_

“Megatron wrote a book?” asked Skyfire, surprised.

“Megatron wrote many things before the war began,” answered Ravage. “He used to be a poet; many mecha were recruited to the Cause by his glyphs alone, including the Air Commander.”

Skyfire supposed that it might be interesting to find out exactly what it was about Megatron and the Cause which had convinced Starscream to become a Decepticon. Subspacing the medical textpad for safekeeping, he swiped to the first page, deciding, “Sounds interesting. Hope he was a good writer; he hasn’t written anything since?”

“Megatron doesn’t write anymore,” said Ravage. “His main interest these orns is punching Optimus Prime in the face.”

Skyfire had no idea how to respond to that, so he just went ahead and started reading. To his surprise, Megatron’s prose was very engaging, a great contrast from the very dry _Autobot Manifesto_ which he had poked at, and without realizing it he had read long into the night. Remembering his jet grade, he forced himself to go to recharge, but the next night he was reading the book again, fascinated by the former miner and gladiator’s points of views. It seemed like Megatron had been a very interesting individual once, and Skyfire found himself agreeing with much of what the mech’s younger self had written, although many other passages of the book whispered unnervingly of extremism. He read the book twice, end to end, before giving it back to Scrapper, deciding, “That was a really good read, thank you.”

“I know, right? Too bad he doesn’t write anymore,” said Scrapper echoing Skyfire’s own thoughts on the matter. “He had an groundbreaking worldview, once upon a time. You can read it again any time you want, just ask.”

“I will,” promised Skyfire, and he returned to his jet grade. His work that orn was interrupted by the Constructicons leaving to join an attack, but they were kind enough to lock him in his room (“Don’t want you wandering and getting into trouble,”) with some fresh textpads to read. When they returned, it was all hands on deck in the medical bay, with Megatron himself being one of the patients, but the Decepticons were jubilant anyway, having apparently succeeded in stealing Wheeljack’s ground bridge thanks to the calculated use of a nuclear missile they had stolen in a previous battle.

“What did you do with it?” Skyfire asked Onslaught as he was fixing his pede. Megatron, thankfully, was in one of the private rooms, so Skyfire didn’t have to see or treat him.

The mech snickered appreciatively, “We dropped it on Mexico City - big place, lots of casualties. Stupid sparkthrob Autobots pretty much cleared out of their base running to help - best of all, we might have caused a war, ‘cus the squishies down in Mexico don’t know it was actually us and they think it was the squishies up here! Now the little vermin’ll be so busy killing each other they’ll forget about us and stop tryna lay siege up top on the surface.”

“The mines took care of that, Onslaught,” noted Scrapper crossly as he walked by.

“Yeah, but it’s funny, isn’t it? How easy it is to mess with the little pests?” chortled Onslaught. “Soundwave sure made up a great plan! We got energon too!”

Skyfire carefully hid how aghast he was at how casually and gleefully the Decepticons threw the local sentients into turmoil. He had no idea how powerful a nuclear missile was, but it sounded fairly bad, and he suspected that it had caused quite a bit of grief. He felt sorry for the humans caught in the crosswind, and sorry for Wheeljack who would have to rebuild his beloved ground bridge. That night he said a prayer to Primus for the lives lost and the next orn he was still feeling remorseful until Hook announced that he was to be allowed a test flight under observation. All depression faded as the Constructicons escorted him up to the flight tower, and with warnings that he would regret crashing into the water if he did (due to the mines,) Skyfire took off with Blast Off, who had been contracted to make sure he stayed inside the perimeter of the _Nemesis’_ airspace.

“That was excellent, of course,” judged Hook when Skyfire landed again a groon later, ecstatic and feeling the best kind of tired. “You’ll fly longer tomorrow - that’s enough for the first orn.”

It felt fantastic finally getting in the sky again, but it felt even better when Skyfire tasted his latest jet grade sample. The energon was smooth, sweeter than Helex’ jet grade and richer, seeming to melt in his mouth after so many orns of horrible low grade. It was like liquid candy in comparison, and Skyfire didn’t think that he had ever tasted anything as good.

“Mixmaster, this is it, this is jet grade,” declared Skyfire proudly, wiping his mouth.

“Excellent; now we gotta figure out how to make a larger batch,” said Mixmaster, grinning at his reaction. “Tastes that good, huh?”

“You have no idea, I am so sick of low grade,” moaned Skyfire, and they got to work again, figuring out the multiplied volumes. All Skyfire could think about was how much Starscream was going to absolutely love the jet grade, how it was going to make up for betraying him with the newsparks, even if he had no idea how to get it to him. Nobody knew where Starscream or his seekers had gone, but Skyfire held onto the hope that they were okay and that they would somehow stay free of Megatron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought that Hook, being as big of a snob as he is, wouldn't tolerate his medical bay being a dark and dingy dungeon. Also since he's a Constructicon, I figured he and his BFFs would build the most tricked out, awesomely competent medical bay that they could. 
> 
> So, Hook's medical bay isn't a torture chamber, but I'm pretty sure Vortex has a just such a creepy room squirreled away somewhere on the Nemesis.


	32. Outliers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some grounders are extremely gross, Scattershot is helpful, Skyfire is sweet, and Starscream sees something which will change his life eventually as circumstances grow darker for old Cybertron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason whenever I look at this chapter title I'm reminded of Outlander.

Starscream was trying not to laugh, but it had been becoming gradually more impossible the longer that the movie progressed. He had never seen anything more ridiculous in his existence, and he felt like he might implode from pure mirth. Intensifying his suffering, Skyfire and Muffler were both ludicrously enthralled by what was happening on screen, making Starscream very grateful that Slater had consented to him wearing extra paint to obscure his markings. Before him in high definition was the source of his suffering - a badly dubbed romantic comedy imported from Vos, which starred some illogically heroic imaginary gutter seeker in love with… _him._ (Or at least an actor painted up to look like him.)

::Oh, Blackorn,:: simpered Starscream’s doppleganger, who was significantly less attractive than he was, ::I never knew love until I met you.::

::I never knew love either, my dear prince,:: said Blackorn, Starscream’s vents choking. The pair on screen kissed, and Starscream’s real companions simpered like Chinook often did. Unable to look away or leave and utterly nauseated, Starscream was fully transfixed by the amazing idiocy, watching as a seeker who looked far too heroic to be Strut in frame but who was painted just like him blessed the fake trining. Fake-Strut admitted that he had been wrong about Blackorn all along, and Muffler beamed tearily as there was yet more grotesque kissing. At last the credits ran, and Starscream swiftly excused himself to laugh his aft off in Muffler’s new apartment’s fancy wash rack, taking care to shut the door so that his friends couldn’t hear his manic sobs of laughter.

“Aw frag, I gotta send that to Courage,” snickered Starscream, wiping a tear from his optic as he managed to compose himself and stepping smirking out the door. Beyond, Skyfire and Muffler were still enthusiastically discussing the depraved film, so Starscream avoided the conversation by lurking by the counter where Muffler kept her snacks. The grounder had graduated and been hired as a biology professor a vorn previous which had seen her moving out of Starscream’s dorm building, so he no longer had her comraderie which he had depended on for over a decavorn whenever Skyfire wasn’t around. The grounder was tiny but mighty and her departure from the dorm was a horrible reminder that Starscream’s own vorns there were numbered, that his schooling was nearing an inevitable end. Soon, unless he did something drastic, he would be graduating, and the relative happiness he had known as a student in Iacon would come to a painful end. 

He wanted to extend his schooling, but he had already taken all the classes that he could take which related to the job which Flashpoint had proposed - and then some.

“Aww, I wish we had royalty here, primes suck slag,” sighed Muffler, sitting on one of her barstools and grabbing a handful of goodies. “Royalty is just so… _romantic,_ you know? Even without the actual romance.”

Starscream snorted and ducked behind the counter so that they couldn’t see his wings shaking.

“Well, Sentinel Prime’s definitely slag, did you hear he wants to make it so that we flight frames won’t be able to fly without a _license?_ I don’t see him imposing that slag on his fellow grounders!” growled Skyfire, who passionately hated Sentinel Prime, who was quite literally the bane of their Iaconian existence. “You know he’s already raised the taxes on jet grade? It was already expensive, especially because it has to be imported, and he made it worse!”

Nothing stole Starscream’s smile faster than talk about jet grade, especially when his family still supplied him his and he had never really known hunger.

“Skyfire, I don’t wanna talk politics tonight, I wanna think about happy stuff,” admonished Muffler. She smiled dreamily, “Star, have you ever seen any of Vos’ royalty? Is there really one with the same designation as you?”

Starscream reluctantly surfaced from behind his sanctuary, lying, “Yeah, I’ve seen them… from a distance at formal events and on the news and stuff.” Warily, he admitted, “There is one I share my designation with, like in the movie.” _Since I’m him._

“That’s amazing,” sighed Muffler. She looked at the time on her huge chrono which she had decorated one wall with, “Well… sorry to put a damper on our evening, mecha, but I gotta recharge, so scoot. I’ll seeya at lunch tomorrow.”

Thankfully, she had been hired as a junior biology professor by the university, so her graduation had not decreased at all what they saw of her, and her usefulness as a study companion. Starscream reluctantly made his way out onto the balcony of her high rise apartment with Skyfire as the shuttle called their goodbyes for the night and gazed down at Iacon, sparkling splendid beneath them under the night sky. Ex-venting, Starscream fired his thrusters and took off, Skyfire right behind him, the pair of them soaring on the warm thermals which were so typical of their beautiful yet imperfect home. Below, grounders went about their lives, content that the laws which Sentinel Prime was trying to pass would never effect them, that his and his lackey’s complaints about flight frames using more fuel than other frame types did not apply to their existence.

::You looking forwards to going home tomorrow for your fortieth birth orn, Star?:: asked Skyfire conversationally.

::When do I _ever,_ Skyfire?:: huffed Starscream.

::I dunno,:: said Skyfire, saddened, ::never, I guess. Why do you hate home so much?::

::They expect slag of me, Skyfire,:: said Starscream. ::It’s like how Hardwing is still convinced that you’ll fly transport some orn - my family expects me to do slag I don’t want to do too.::

::What kind of stuff?:: asked Skyfire as they banked into a holding pattern, reluctant to part ways, as usual, and feeling safe in the sky.

::Carry seekerlings,:: growled Starscream. ::Hordes and hordes of them. I’m going to spend the rest of my life popping out a fragging army of them for some ingrate trine who doesn’t give a slag about me, but_ ‘I’ll love my creations no matter how slag my trinemates are!’_ Or so says my carrier. Spoken by a wise femme, probably - my slagheap sires are _obsessed_ with sparking her and for all I know, they’ve fragging gone and done it again!::

::Do you… have to trine?:: asked Skyfire, shocked, likely because Starscream usually avoided talking about this.

::Yes,:: said Starscream, gloomily considering that with himself turning forty, and barely to his graduation, he only had six decavorns to make something of himself before his spark destabilized.

::Why?:: asked Skyfire.

::Because Seeker sparks don’t last long on their own, Skyfire,:: said Starscream, and frustrated by the conversation and the reminder of the home he would shortly be returning to, which he despised, he banked hard away. ::Bye, Skyfire, have fun in Helex visiting your grandcreators, make sure you eat lots of treats and do a lot of flying for me.::

::Star!:: exclaimed Skyfire, unexpectedly following him. ::What do you mean by Seeker sparks not lasting long by themselves?::

::Forget I said it,:: said Starscream, wanting to be away from him, from the vile conversation and Skyfire’s dumb flashing wing lights, which weren’t as funny when he was upset.

::I will not,:: defied Skyfire, ::it sounds important, and like something I should know, because I care about you.::

Starscream almost snapped that it was a ‘Seeker thing’ but realized that that would make him sound as fragging racist as the damned grounders whom they spent their days with, who they spent so much time angrily insulting under their breaths in Vosian. He swept back into their holding pattern, growling, ::Fine. Seeker sparks are weird as slag and need a spark bond with two others or they eventually destabilize, usually within a centravorn.::

::A… _centravorn?!::_ yelped Skyfire. ::Star, are you sure? That’s not much time!::

::Well, the good thing about seekers, Skyfire dearest, is that love need not be involved,:: snipped Starscream sarcastically. ::We’re coded to trine with seekers whose sparks resonate compatibly with our own and since I’m fragging carrier-coded, I get to be sold like a fragging fancy cybercat to my trine! And then I will spend my existence carrying their ugly, whiny, drooly scraplets forever and ever!::

Done with the conversation and too distressed to apologize, he gunned his thrusters and powered away, chirping, ::Love you, bye, tell me all about Helex when you get back! You’re awesome, Skyfire!::

His friend tried to ping him, but Starscream was too angry to reply, furious that his dear friend would be living on free without him, that while he was popping out an endless stream of sparklings, Skyfire would be seeing the very universe without him. Too angry to deal with Ridgeline’s highly likely complaining if he flew right to his room, he set down near the entrance of the university and started walking, wings flicking as he stalked towards the dorms. Nearby, there were loud, laughing voices, and he looked around in annoyance to see some other students, ground frames, weaving along a walkway, all clearly very overcharged. He could smell the high grade from where he stood and with an annoyed swat of his wings he continued on his way, only to hear the excited rev of an engine as well as lecherous catcalling voices.

“Hey! Hey seeker! Wanna have a good time? Your wings are so pretty!” jeered one of them, a mech whom Starscream suspected turned into a race car. They had picked up their pace and were walking with swift, drunken purpose towards him.

“I already had a good time, go away,” barked Starscream, flaring his wings and squaring his stance, ready to take his null rays for a test drive on a living target if he had to. They powered on with the softest of hums as the grounders ran up, three of them, chortling.

“I bet we can give you a better time, seeker!” snickered the race car.

“Yeah, with our spikes!” exclaimed a truck, and to Starscream’s utter revolt (and sick fascination because he had never actually seen one before apart from in illustrated biology diagrams,) the truck popped his spike cover, the thing springing out with a nasty wet sound. The truck gyrated his hips to wiggle it, apparently enticingly, and Starscream couldn’t help taking a step backwards in disgust. The truck grinned at him, “C’mere and suck it, seeker! Bet you never had a good spike!”

“Bet his valve’s nice and tight, bet he don’t get enough attention,” snickered the third, whose alt mode Starscream couldn’t be bothered to guess, and with a click there was a second spike flapping about until it pressurized, then the thing bobbed.

“I am really not interested,” hissed Starscream, feeling torn now, because if he shot the fraggers he might get thrown out of the university,

“What? But everyone says seekers love a frag! You gotta suck our spikes, seeker! You gotta -” The stupid truck didn’t get to finish that sentence, because a bolt of pink struck him square in the chest. He collapsed backwards, null energy which hadn’t originated from Starscream’s guns crackling through him, and the other two grounder students squealed - only to almost immediately break out laughing as Starscream saw swift moving blips on his radar.

Radar which his would-be rapists didn’t possess.

“Ahahaha! You’re fragged, seeker, they’re never gonna let you stay now, so you better get a good time in!” snickered the race car, stepping closer to Starscream, servos reaching just as Starscream heard thrusters shrill directly above him. He abruptly understood that the first attack had come from a glide path - and he smirked as the race car failed to notice his peril until Nimbus was already right on top of him, slamming him into the ground, the pitch black seeker invisible in the night sky. The third grounder fell with a squawk under Redbomb, and Scattershot landed beside Starscream, grinning merrily.

“Thought yeh needed some ‘elp there, since yeh weren’t shooting,” noted Scattershot as his trine shot their victims at point blank range with their null rays. Scattershot didn’t even flinch; he just kept smiling, “What’re dem wings for if yeh aren’t gonna use ‘em, Cleverwings?”

“I was torn between shooting and getting expelled and fleeing like a coward,” growled Starscream.

“Well, here’s a lesson for yeh, Cleverwings;” said Scattershot, “cowards _live._ When you’re under attack, put those thrusters Primus gave yeh to good use - or do the same with your null rays. That’s why they’re there. Use whatever you’re blessed with to preserve yeh life an’ stay free.”

Starscream looked around, immediately noticing that there wasn’t any surveillance, “What do we do now? Aren’t we going to be arrested for attacking them?”

“We?” snickered Scattershot. _“You_ go home, you did nothin’ ‘cept mind your own damned business an’ tell ‘em ‘no.’”

“Well, aren’t you going to be arrested?” asked Starscream.

“Not if nobody ever finds out,” smirked Scattershot, grabbing the truck by the arm and hefting the unconscious mech up at which Starscream noted swift incoming blips - other seekers. “Y’go home and ‘charge, Cleverwings, an’ don’t worry about a thing. We take care of it.”

Starscream canted his wings affirmative and he was about to run away when Scattershot added, “’An you watch yer radar better in da future, Cleverwings; yeh didn’t know we was there ‘til after I nulled the first fragger. Good seeker is aware at all times - ‘member that.”

“Thank you,” said Starscream and he made good his escape, hurrying to his dorm building then halting when he saw Skyfire waiting for him outside of it, looking worried. “Sky?”

“Star, I didn’t want to say goodbye on that note,” said Skyfire anxiously.

Starscream tried to remember what note he meant and finally grimaced, “It’s okay, Skyfire, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?” asked Skyfire. “You really don’t look alright.”

Starscream somehow didn’t think Skyfire was capable of dealing with the fact that three of their classmates were probably being hauled off to be ‘dealt with’ (whatever that meant in Scattershotian.) He looked down, studying the ground, and let his wingtips fall, “I… am really fine, Skyfire. It’s fine. I’m going to try to get out of it.”

“Get out of what?” asked Skyfire, seeming confused. “The dying thing?”

“No,” laughed Starscream, the sound echoing across the courtyard unpleasantly. “The trining thing. I’d rather live free of controlling fraggers for a short time and answer my potential than spend eons increasing Vos’ population. I want to make a statement, that just because I have carrier-coding doesn’t mean that that’s all I’m meant for. I’m going to do something important with the vorns that I have.”

“Oh,” said Skyfire, shocked. “But, you’ll die…”

“Everyone dies eventually, Skyfire,” noted Starscream. He made to walk past his friend to his dorm entrance and stopped, “Don’t get upset about it, I still have six decavorns, that’s loads of time!”

“No it’s not; Starscream, my sire is three hundred thousand centravorns old,” said Skyfire, emphasizing, “_centravorns!_ One centravorn is nothing!”

“Wow, Hardwing’s an old mech,” snickered Starscream. “I didn’t know.”

“Starscream, it’s not funny, you’re basically talking about dying while you’re still practically a sparkling,” said Skyfire.

“So? It’s my life, Skyfire,” said Starscream, “and maybe I can donate my glitching frame to science.”

“Starscream, don’t you dare!” snapped Skyfire. “Don’t you dare even think like that! I love you and I won’t tolerate that!”

Starscream froze, “You what?”

Skyfire’s optics went huge and he spluttered, “Um, I love you - platonically, as a friend.”

“Oh,” said Starscream, staring at him. He supposed that Skyfire was rather brother-like. “I care about you as well, friend.”

“Maybe we can find a way around the trining thing and the glitching thing,” offered Skyfire. “That’s dumb that your spark would do that.”

“Maybe,” said Starscream; perhaps it was possible - he didn’t know. He’d only ever been fed propaganda about it saying that it wasn’t.

Skyfire suddenly hugged him, “Try to have fun at home, Star. Love you.”

“Love you too,” admitted Starscream, and they broke apart, stared at each other, then started walking away.

“If… you need me at all, Star, just call,” urged Skyfire from across the courtyard, then he was gone, and Starscream returned to his dorm room, wondering at the bizarre evening which he had had.

* * *

“Starscream, correct your accent, you’re letting that _city_ pollute your syntax,” hissed Killjoy, after Starscream innocently greeted him upon stepping off of the transport.

“Sire, I think Star sounds cool,” chirped Yellowstreak, now a mechling nearly ready for his own upgrades and still somewhat bizarrely infatuated with Starscream. He was so far the smartest of Starscream’s siblings, and the only one who Starscream considered remarkable in any way, but he wasn’t as bright as Starscream was. He was certainly more of a genius than any average mech, but mostly he was just very sweet, and Starscream seemed incapable of doing anything wrong in Yellowstreak’s friendly worldview. As soon as Yellowstreak had been old enough, he had always been waiting to greet Starscream when he flew in and Starscream happily accepted his affectionate little brother’s hug. Yellowstreak was on the smallish side like him, and Starscream feared that Yellowstreak was probably carrier-coded, although he doubted that Yellowstreak would mind as much as he did.

“Love you, Yellow,” smiled Starscream as Yellowstreak snuggled against him. Yellowstreak, still a perfect shield from glaring relatives, would likely be spending his entire visit by his side, and probably sleeping in his room with him. The days of recharging with Strut were long forgotten, along with the litterbond now - Strut stayed with the guards, or with Cloudbreak. He never came home to the inner sanctum of the palace to recharge anymore; that was his workplace.

“Starscream! That disgusting accent is still there! You are spending far too much time in that slaghole!” snarled Killjoy, commencing stalking inside, expecting them to follow.

“It’s only been a couple of decavorns, Killjoy, very short in the greater scheme of things,” said Starscream tiredly, but he carefully tried to sound properly Vosian anyway, because he didn’t like the idea that Iaconian Neocybex might be tainting his speech pattern. As a prince and a royal, he needed to sound as Vosian as possible - it was a matter of pride.

“The greater scheme of things is that you are now forty as of joor six this morning and you are six decavorns away from deactivation unless you trine,” snapped Killjoy.

“My frame won’t be fully developed until I’m sixty,” said Starscream, attempting to excuse himself. “I’m not even physically ready to trine.”

“Starscream, seekers can physically trine the klik that they online from their adult upgrades,” snapped Killjoy. “You are going to come with me now, and you’re going to go over with me the list of available mecha in Vos with whom your spark resonates. You will give me your input, and based on particular factors, it may or may not matter.”

“Can I look too, Sire?” asked Yellowstreak hopefully, still latched onto Starscream.

“No, Yellowstreak, go play with your siblings, this is adult stuff,” ordered Killjoy. “You can hang off of your brother’s wings as much as you please later in the common room when we celebrate him and Strut.”

“Aww, okay, see you,” chirped Yellowstreak, and the adorable little fragger had the nerve to kiss Starscream’s cheek before scampering away.

“That one’s pure Comet,” grumbled Killjoy somewhat resentfully. “He got my speed but her processor and temperament, he’s a carrier for sure.” He twitched and glared at Starscream, “Which is not a bad thing, Starscream, don’t you dare think that!”

“It’s only a bad thing if that isn’t what he wants,” hissed Starscream back. 

“And you’ll never want it,” growled Killjoy. He seized Starscream’s wrist and towed him to his suite, where Starscream groaned at the sight of his carrier - sparked, yet again. Around her pedes there were five sparkling siblings, squealing ecstatically at the sight of him, all of them stickly little messes with legs. Starscream forced a smile at them, exclaiming falsely but appropriately over how big they were getting (they looked as puny as ever, except that their legs seemed more functional now then the last time that he had seen the glitches,) and shuddered as they graced him with wet little hugs. He hugged his carrier, who was typically emotional at seeing him (probably because she was feeling thoroughly hormonal, judging by the progress of her belly,) and greeted Missilefire with the usual glare.

“Starscream, stop scowling at Miss,” snapped Killjoy as they reached his desk at last, “he sired you too.”

“I don’t care,” said Starscream, growling as Missilefire seized him off of his pedes with his grotesque strength, which wasn’t endearing the way that Skyfire’s was. “We’re not friends.”

“You’re still _mine,_ brat,” growled Missilefire, forcibly nuzzling him, “you still wouldn’t exist without me.”

“Stop it, put me down,” snarled Starscream, which was basically how their relationship had always been, with Missilefire forcing his affection on him and Starscream attempting to free himself, both of them growling hatefully at each other. (Except there was nothing actually in Missilefire’s field which said that he disliked Starscream; Starscream had theorized that the huge slagheap probably had some demented sire instinct to protect and love him whether he wanted to or not.)

“Miss, put him down, and keep our litter occupied so that I can think,” ordered Killjoy. Sometimes, considering their height disparity and Missilefire’s physical power, Starscream wondered how Killjoy managed to stay on top. As usual, Starscream was set back on his pedes, and Killjoy had him sit at the desk, then sat beside him.

“Oh, are you going over the trining options?” asked Comet excitedly, hurrying over as Killjoy placed a datapad between them and powered it on.

Killjoy, to Starscream’s disgust, pushed out his chair slightly so that Comet could sit on his lap and Starscream scowled as the first picture he saw was General Tanzing’s official trining capture with Darklight. Without the mecha physically present, it was far easier to find their markings and faces repellent, Starscream growling his dislike, just in case his creators had any delusions about him actually liking the duo because he had danced with them a few times. (His spark seemingly wouldn’t let him say no - every time it felt them near, he seemed unable to refuse them.)

“Star, shush, we know you don’t like them,” said Killjoy, but Comet looked strangely surprised.

“Star, you dance so nicely with them!” exclaimed Comet. “And you’re always smiling when they are with you!”

“Comet, he literally cannot help that, seekers are coded to want to be near other seekers with resonating sparks if they’re untrined, it’s whether the seekers can actually catch him in a trining flight which matters,” sneered Killjoy. “If they can’t, his spark rejects them and that’s when he can hate them to their faces.”

“You caught me,” noted Comet unnecessarily.

“Yes, because I was faster than you, love,” smirked Killjoy, sneaking a kiss to her cheek. Starscream averted his gaze, grossed out, and lacking any doubt that he wouldn’t be disabled in some way for his trining flight to make _sure_ that he was caught. Killjoy switched to the next mech, who didn’t yet have a trinemate, and for a joor Starscream reluctantly read over the specs of potential sire-mates. Speed was listed, as well as things like height and wingspan; there was a capture of each seeker’s face from their government identification, or nicer pictures if they had submitted them for the trining catalogue. The ones who had actually bothered to participate more in the catalogue had also had photos taken of them in their alt modes to show off their markings, some profiles even containing short clips of them flying. 

Finally, Starscream reached the end of the list, which culminated in a broken trine, a pair which were crossed off, slashing red lines across their pictures, their information blacked despite the fact that one, the blue member of the pair, had obviously at some point paid to have better pictures of himself submitted. Starscream frowned, wondering why, and saw the glyph written across the harsh red slashes:

**OUTLIER**

“Why did they include outliers in here if it’s illegal to trine them?” snorted Starscream.

“By law, all seekers with resonating sparks are included, even if you can’t trine them,” snorted Killjoy. “Just ignore them; there’s no way that those two are going to trine, any creations they sire would be euthanized. I’m surprised these two are even still alive - they’re probably being studied somewhere; I imagine that their spark gifts are useful, so I suspect some scientists want to replicate them in devices. That’s the only reason why they would not have already been given the green dream; it doesn’t matter, their entry will disappear as soon as they are put down.”

Starscream stared at their photos for a moment, noting how the purple and black seeker was smiling so earnestly, both seekers seeming so full of life, then he switched pages back to a seeker he had seen previously, grimacing as he tried to decide whether the mech’s livery might be tolerable or not. None of the seekers on the list were particularly appealing to him - one fragger was even neon _orange,_ which was disgusting, and there was no way that he was considering the exotic cone helmed seeker on the list, some questionably designated mech called _Thrust_ of all things.

He told Killjoy this and his sire laughed, then Comet steered him to a page of a seeker she had liked, who Killjoy thought might be appropriate. After his first run through the list, they didn’t let him look at the mecha who didn’t own enough capital. There was a certain amount of shanix which his sire-mates had to have for his family to consider them worthy of him, for his comfort, and Killjoy refused to let him trine anyone whose intelligence index number fell below a particular level. Neither of his creators seemed to give a damn about the temperaments or personality profiles of Starscream’s prospective mates; what mattered most to them was the seekers’ potential ability to sire intelligent, fast offspring out of him. Killjoy marked the mecha which he liked best, crossing off entirely the specs of the ones he disdained (which unfortunately included the only ones apart from the banned outliers who were remotely good looking,) which left Starscream with a few who sounded like they might be nice mecha, but who had incredibly boring sounding jobs, which translated in his processor to them being dull by extention. Broken trines were preferred over single mecha - with already trined sire-mates, there was a guarantee of specs, while the singles had no choice but to trine with the other singles on the list - many of whom his creators disliked.

“This femme has a nice smile,” pointed out Comet as Starscream scrolled through them again, trying not to feel distressed because even if there was a seeker or trine he decided that he liked, Winglord Mercury had the power to nix whatever his decision was, to force him to trine someone else, like Tanzing. Starscream paused on the page of the femme and shuddered - what Comet thought was a charming smile wasn’t his idea of charming at all, the seeker looking downright predatory.

“Starscream, why don’t you take some time to go over the ones we have approved,” said Killjoy, off lining the datapad and handing it to him. “Right now let’s get to your party; Strut has some big news!”

Starscream didn’t really want to know what Strut’s big news was - it was probably something stupid like his brother had gotten a new custom paintball rifle for guard training or something ridiculous like that. He fixed his polish in the wash rack and joined the flock of siblings moving to the family common room where already mecha were gathering. He gladly escaped his parents to hangout with Courageflight and his sire-mate Flamesong, and Yellowstreak appeared right on cue to glue himself to Starscream’s side again. He got more complaints about his accent as other relatives wandered over to greet him, and Starscream did his best to fix that. He was staring fixedly at the treats being laid out by the servants while Nightglow lectured him relentlessly on responsibility when Strut swept into the room, looking bizarrely victorious and… not alone.

“Starscream!” exclaimed Strut, breaking into a run and snagging Starscream from Yellowstreak, Courageflight tossing Flamesong a shanix chip, having apparently bet on this reaction. Strut nuzzled against Starscream and beamed, “Guess what, beautiful? I got my trine! We’re gonna have our flight the orn after next!”

“What?” asked Starscream, and Strut turned him gleefully, so that he was facing not only Cloudbreak, but a strange black seeker with blue markings as well.

“It’s a great pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Prince Starscream, Strut has told me so much about you,” smiled the mech congenially, saluting with his wings, which were military branded. “You are just as pretty as your brother said that you were.”

Starscream cycled his optics, “Um, hello…?”

“Strut, you didn’t tell Star his name!” giggled Cloudbreak, who was hanging on the black mech’s arm and beaming. (Starscream wondered how much of Cloudbreak’s happiness was coded, or if he secretly found the fragger as hideous as Starscream found Tanzing and Darklight when he was away from them.)

“I’m sorry,” laughed Strut, “Starscream, this is Lieutenant Blackstar of the Eastern Royal Regiment, we call him ‘Black’ for short.”

“It’s good to meet you, Lieutenant,” said Starscream, wishing that he had been warned about this and feeling distinctly annoyed as the fragger looked around.

“Where’s your trine, Prince Starscream? Surely you have at least part of it…?” asked Blackstar.

“Black, we told you,” said Strut, “Star doesn’t have consorts yet. He has _suitors,_ but he’s not here enough to be courted.”

“Where does he go?” asked Blackstar, annoyingly surprised.

“Iacon. Our creators are letting him study there so that he gets over himself,” said Strut, which was the point where Starscream decided that he didn’t want to talk to Strut, that he’d much rather listen to Chinook blather on about her demented movie watching habit (she would have loved Muffler,) then hear what his littermate had to say. He stalked away, and ignored his brother’s calls for him to return, Yellowstreak faithfully reappearing as he made it across the room.

“Are you okay, Star?” asked Yellowstreak.

“I’m fine, Yellow, Strut’s just being a dumbaft,” said Starscream, gravitating to the treat table. “I don’t want to talk to him, he’s changed a lot since we became adults and he started hanging out with the guards all the time.”

“Oh,” said Yellowstreak, wrapping an arm around one of his. Starscream let him cling even though he was as big as Starscream was, (the poor fragger would likely be sympathizing with him soon enough,) and commenced the critical business of daintily placing as many treats which he was not usually allowed into his face. Yellowstreak typically copied him and Starscream had just started feeling somewhat good again when Cloudbreak moved in beside him, Yellowstreak chirping, “Hello, Lord Cloudbreak.”

“Hey, Prince Yellow,” smiled Cloudbreak. “Keeping Star company as usual, huh?”

“Everyone else is mean to him,” said Yellowstreak irritably, “and he’s my favourite brother, so I don’t understand it.”

“Well, not everyone can like everyone, I guess,” said Cloudbreak. He glared at Starscream, “Star, you barely spoke to Blackstar, we brought him so that you could get to know him.”

“I don’t want to talk to mecha about trining, I already spent all afternoon looking at the fragging pointless catalogue of slagheaps whom I’m not even allowed to trine,” said Starscream. “And I’m going to spend more time with it, because how else am I going to convince myself that any of the ‘appropriate’ ones are tolerable?”

Cloudbreak winced, “It can’t be that bad.”

“It’s that bad, Cloudbreak,” snapped Starscream. “I’m going to be trined with mecha who are not only hideous, but boring too. I wish that trining was less instinctive, then I could tell General Tanzing to his face that I think he and Darklight are slag. Instead, whenever I see them my spark makes me fragging do whatever they want and there’s no way in Pit that I am flying for them, because knowing my luck, they’ll actually slagging catch me!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Star, but please come meet Blackstar; I’ll tell them not to talk about you trining, but we’re really excited for ours,” said Cloudbreak, tugging on his free arm. “Come on, if you don’t hurry over you’re going to make Strut cry, you know he hates rejection.”

Starscream went, but only on the condition of Yellowstreak staying with him, and he reluctantly heard out Blackstar’s boring life story, which was nearly as dull as Missilefire’s. Then, he suffered through Killjoy’s speech regarding how proud he was of Strut for gaining guard officer rank, and struggled not to roll his optics at Killjoy’s quip that the family was ‘unfortunately still waiting for Starscream to grow up a little.’ It was annoying, and Starscream left as early as he could without upsetting Yellowstreak too much, since he was the only family member he had left who actually seemed to give a proper damn about him. 

* * *

“I like that femme’s smile,” chirped Yellowstreak as they lay on their wings on Starscream’s berth, Starscream getting Yellowstreak’s opinions on each seeker on his potential trinemate list. It was the morning after Strut’s trining flight, which had been fun to watch, even if it had quickly become apparent that Strut wasn’t the dominant sire-mech in his new trine - Blackstar had coordinated their chase, and Blackstar had been the one to finally pin Cloudbreak, who had flown them both absolutely ragged, to the glee of his cheering family. Starscream had scowled at the sight of Blackstar and Strut flattening Cloudbreak to the tarmac, but Cloudbreak had seemed over the moons about it, as if it was somehow the greatest moment in his entire life. Comet had sobbed joyfully about how she couldn’t wait to see Starscream’s trining flight, and he had snuck away while everyone was distracted by his brother spark merging in plain sight of all of Vos, trining right in bold view of the news drones.

“Carrier said that too,” grunted Starscream. “She works as an _accountant_ though, that’s so boring.”

“But we like shanix,” reasoned Yellowstreak.

“Shanix isn’t everything, Yellowstreak,” grimaced Starscream. “I’d rather have someone who I can stand to look at, whose creations won’t be as hideous as they are.”

“But all of your creations are going to look like you, and you’re the most fabulous seeker ever,” chirped Yellowstreak.

“The latter is true, but have you _seen_ Strut? Or Chinook?” smirked Starscream.

“Star!” giggled Yellowstreak. “That’s mean!”

“So you agree,” said Starscream slyly, and the glitch laughed harder, squealing when Starscream tickled his belly, which had yet to stop making Yellowstreak writhe about like a demented organic. He stopped tormenting his brother as his door opened and Yellowstreak fell across his lap then snatched the datapad. Starscream didn’t comment, distracted by General Slater, who prowled into the room, declaring, “Starscream, I’d like a glyph; Yellowstreak, would you mind going somewhere else for a while? Leave that here.”

“Okay, Slater! Star, I marked my favourites!” giggled Yellowstreak, abandoning the datapad on the table and running out of the room. Slater watched him go, then he stood, looming over Starscream, seemingly considering him.

“I didn’t get your last report card, Starscream,” stated Slater.

Starscream smirked; he’d managed to hack the university system and remove the tracking virus which the general had implanted in his student records.

“Of course I assume that you did as exceptionally as always,” said Slater, cocking his helm. “But I have replaced my hack.”

This was true - but Starscream had already removed it, so he didn’t say anything, curious whether Slater knew.

“Your university student orns are coming to an end, Starscream,” said Slater. “I know for a fact that you will be graduating soon.”

Starscream gestured at the abandoned datapad, “By all means, General, mark your favourites.”

“You can’t tell me that you want that yet,” said Slater. “I know what Flashpoint intends you and the shuttle for - seems like a more attractive profession than Carrier. And studying other worlds would remove you from Vos’ reach. And it would be dangerous.”

“I have null rays,” growled Starscream.

“Which you _hesitated_ to use,” said Slater, informing Starscream all at once that he was in contact with Scattershot, which Starscream had always suspected. “Fortunately your attackers vanished without a trace, and I have managed to keep your aunt the Winglord from finding out, as well as your creators, but Iacon is getting more dangerous, Starscream.”

“I can take care of myself, Slater,” insisted Starscream.

“You’re playing with fire, Starscream,” said Slater. “I’m beginning to feel uneasy about leaving you under Sentinel Prime’s nose. Flight frame mecha have been going missing in some places, my prince; I will not tolerate it happening to you as well.”

“That hasn’t happened in Iacon, Iacon’s still safe,” said Starscream.

“Says the prince who was almost _raped!”_ snapped Slater. He glared, “Be more decisive, or I will drag your tailfins home and tell your elders about that incident - that’s when it’ll be game over and time to bare your spark, Star. I will cover for you, but only for a decavorn longer, and if you screw up again with defending yourself, I will follow through with my threat. You will be pulled from Iacon, and you won’t have achieved anything apart from an education which you’ll never use.”

Slater shook a digit at him, “Do well, obey, and maybe I won’t squeal about you flying into space a couple of times.”

Starscream ex-vented violently; he still had a chance.

“And I’m replacing my tracker, since you’ve obviously removed it a second time already,” snorted Slater. “You have learned your lessons in tech well so far, but I’ll outsmart you.”

“Doubt it, old mech,” smirked Starscream, at ease now.

“Clever, brilliant little glitch,” praised Slater. “Well; tell me about university.”

Starscream did, visiting with the general until he had to leave, bidding him not to put much stock into the available sire-seekers yet, that more would probably show up as time went on. Slater wasn’t impressed by the selection either but Starscream wondered amusedly what Yellowstreak had thought, so he scrolled through the list, frowning as he didn’t see his brother’s initial anywhere. Checking through it twice, he happened to flick over onto the outlier trine’s page and in-vented sharply as he saw his brother’s mark, along with his note, _They look nice. :)_

His gaze drifted up to the handsome faces of the outliers, and felt his spark jag as he considered that Yellowstreak was right, that of all the mecha on his courting list, the two illegal entries looked the least like insufferable slagheaps.

Starscream sighed and scrolled back to Tanzing and Darklight’s page with their unpleasant smirks - he was probably doomed to trine them anyway.


	33. Thundercracker Provides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn what has become of modern Starscream and his seekers after they fled South America.

Barricade and Spinister hadn’t stood a chance. On silent wings Thundercracker had swooped down on top of them with Horizon’s trine, and in swift order the pair had been knocked out then robbed of their subspace contents. With Bitstream’s help, he had taken to lurking out of sight at the edge of battles, attacking anyone who strayed from their main faction. Mid-combat was the perfect cover - when the unconscious frames were found later, it was easily assumed that they had been attacked by the other side rather than by seekers. Thundercracker and his seekers had been able to acquire all kinds of things in this manner, always departing the scene of battle with his own subspace stuffed full of things which they needed. Best of all, it was not even a long flight from their base at full speed - just four joors.

His mission complete, his sire-coding sated again with the sublime satisfaction of providing well for Starscream, he alighted at the edge of the escarpment deep in the Gobi Desert where they had hidden their new base. From above, there was no obvious sign that it existed - they had taken their time building it, making certain that it was inaccessible to humans and ground frames alike, as well as invisible to the humans’ satellite surveillance - not that there was very much of that over Mongolia, Bitstream had assured him. Mongolia was wilder even than South America had been, and they were many days travel from any human settlement by ground, with no roads to lead anyone there. Best of all, the place was warm, and Starscream usually spent the planetary orns curled up in the sunshine, mostly content except for his bothersome innards.

A hopeful trill encouraged Thundercracker to hover down, and he stepped purring onto the sheltered ledge where his mates were curled up, Skywarp protectively draped over Starscream’s side. Chirping, he greeted his mates and inspected his gravid winglord, trying to discern whether he’d allow his middle to be touched yet, only to snort as the testy glitch typically swiped at him.

“Still not sharing, TC,” giggled Skywarp.

“He will eventually,” declared Thundercracker, even though Starscream’s mutinous glare said otherwise. He kissed Skywarp and smirked at Starscream, “You look gorgeous, love.”

Starscream felt distinctly hideous actually, and he showed it by shuffling a wing to cover his endearingly round middle some more so that Thundercracker couldn’t look at it. _Hunger/nausea/pain/irritation/happy/curious,_ read at the carrier’s end of their trinebond, proving that Starscream was actually pleased to see Thundercracker, even if he mostly just wanted to know what slag Thundercracker had been able to pilfer for him. Thundercracker drew his spoils out of his subspace and wasn’t at all shocked when Starscream pounced on the energon cubes like a starving turbofox, swiping them all under his wing with a belligerent scowl which informed Thundercracker that he wouldn’t be getting any of it. Thundercracker didn’t care though; he nuzzled his mate’s wing and felt a peculiar sense of bliss as he watched Starscream hungrily gulp down the fuel, nourishing their unborn litter. Their base was still under construction, but they were finally beginning to be able to provide for Starscream and the newsparks properly, something which made Thundercracker’s spark sing with contentment.

“Thundercracker, Horizon, what did you find?” asked Acid Storm stepping out from the base entrance. From another sheltered ledge higher up, Hotlink watched, guarding Starscream and Skywarp, while a full trine, Crosswind’s, was patrolling on sentry duty.

“Mostly energon,” said Horizon, busy emptying her subspace of energon near Starscream, her trinemates following suit. “We did get a blaster rifle and some power cells as well though, and some high grade.”

“There was high grade?” asked Acid Storm amusedly.

“Yeah, ‘was,’ looks like the Winglord’s already gulped it down,” said Horizon with a soft smile Starscream’s way.

Starscream glared resentfully at them from over his third cube of energon, “You try having a bunch of freeloading scraplets inside of you.”

“It’s good to see you eating well, sir, it’ll make the princes strong,” said Horizon happily.

Starscream muttered and resumed gulping fuel as if he was starving. Horizon moved inside with her trine and Starscream’s rabid drinking came to an abrupt halt, the Winglord’s wings twitching angrily as he reached the end of what his fuel tank could hold. “Frag. I’m still hungry; fragging low grade!”

“At least there was some high grade,” chirped Skywarp.

“Yeah, I feel a bit better than usual,” grumbled Starscream and he flopped uncomfortably onto his side, snarking, “This is how the mighty falls: taken out by frame parasites.”

“Starscream, you’re carrying, not dying,” chuckled Thundercracker.

“Feels like I’m dying,” muttered Starscream.

“Well, you’re not,” promised Thundercracker, running a servo over the tense wing which protected Starscream’s newspark bump from view. He was grateful that he and Skywarp no longer had to feed Starscream their line energon, although he was ready to do it again if they ran out of low grade. Starscream still was not particularly well, but he was getting better, especially whenever Thundercracker managed to bring him high grade. “And you’re still in command, love; how are the mines coming?”

Starscream smirked, “No grounder or human fragger is coming anywhere near here - Nacelle and Jadewing laid out land mines in every direction for twenty hics. We have a band of two hics closer in where there’s none.”

Thundercracker grinned back; it had been a very good plan of Starscream’s, getting the land mines from some human arms dealers, and he knew that Starscream had made sure that other nasty surprises had been laid out as well. The poor arms dealers had had the fright of their life when they realized that the ‘buyers’ they had been in communication with were really winged aliens. Bitstream had expertly hacked a human bank in America to send the arms dealers the funds, and the idiot squishies had eagerly supplied them with more ordnance when they saw how much Bitstream gave them. They’d even thrown in some paint stripper, and black automotive paint which they had had for some reason.

“Anytime you want more, you contact us, yes?” the greasy little human in command had beamed, white teeth practically glowing in his mouth.

Thundercracker fanned his wings in the sun; it felt good having the Vosian crest on them, and seeing it on the other mecha of their faction with it as well. They were truly no longer Decepticon now, and he smiled at the sight of the anti-aircraft turret which they had stolen off of a human military base, which Hotlink had been fixing up. They planned on getting another one as soon as they could, as well as installing perimeter sensors; overall, the base was really shaping up. With bedding he had stolen from a human factory, Starscream even had a somewhat proper soft nest to curl up in at night and his mate seemed reasonably content on his ledge from where he could survey their territory in the sunshine while he wrote out tactical plans on his datapad. Thundercracker knew that he was working on a design for a new bomb; his mate refused to explain what was special about it because ‘it was just an idea,’ but it was nice to see him doing something more proactive then thinking up ways to assassinate Megatron or Shockwave. (Not that Starscream hadn’t tried to kill Megatron since they had left - he had ordered Bitstream to slip the humans the coordinates for the _Nemesis,_ after all, but apparently the humans had already figured them out somehow, news which had thoroughly disgusted Starscream.)

The only thing they hadn’t had progress on was figuring out how to get back to Cybertron without storming the _Nemesis,_ which everyone agreed was an awful idea. Since their ultimate goal was rebuilding their species and civilization, minimizing casualties was of critical importance. According to Starscream, if they wanted any hope of surviving the extinction of the rest of Cybertron’s frame types, they needed to have as many seekers as possible survive to reproduce in order to create a viable new population and subsequent generations.

Trading places with Skywarp so that he could have a break, Thundercracker wrapped his arms around Starscream’s waist and pulled his smaller frame flush against his underside. The carrier growled at him, but once he decided that Thundercracker’s servos weren’t actually touching his belly he settled then shifted into an energon-induced recharge. Thundercracker nuzzled the back of his mate’s neck and sleepily watched Skywarp play in the sky with one of Jadewing’s trinemates, practicing combat moves. It was nice to see Skywarp having fun, and acting like a good sire, responsibly looking after their tricoloured mate while Thundercracker found fuel.

“I wish we’d left sooner,” commented Acid Storm as Ion Storm joined Skywarp and the other seeker in their fun. “This is so nice compared to the_ Nemesis_ and Darkmount. Our existence may be tenuous, but it is much better than it was, even if we are still subsisting off of petroleum, and we have no wash rack.”

“It’s good temporarily,” agreed Thundercracker, Starscream sound asleep and peaceful in his arms. “We need to figure out how to get to Cybertron though, and I’m concerned about Megatron because I don’t think that he’s going to stop looking for Star. He’s going to put us on the List, eventually, and then we’ll have the DJD here. Star hasn’t been very interested in transforming lately - he practically hasn’t left the base since we got here.”

“He will stop flying soon, Thundercracker,” confirmed Acid Storm. “He’s still having a difficult carry as well, he’s still far hungrier than he should be, and he shouldn’t be in as much pain as he is.”

None of this comforted Thundercracker. He ex-vented and laid his helm down, determined to get as much rest as he could before the need to provide for his mate saw him flying off again. 

* * *

Thundercracker was gone - the fragger was nearly always gone, these orns, but he always returned with fuel of some sort, which was a good thing. He wasn’t the only seeker providing for Starscream either - Nova Storm kept bringing him cell phones to eat, having found that the tiny communication devices seemed to contain an ideal concentration of various metals and glass. They never tasted good, especially because Novastorm insisted on smashing them into a sharp powder, but they helped Starscream feel less like slag, but there was always a cramping throb in his middle anyway. Even worse, his usual urge to fly seemed to be fading off, and to his embarrassment, he had started spending most of his time just lazing about. 

Starscream attempted to be useful by working on his bomb design, but thanks to his freeloading newsparks he didn’t have much energy even for that and it annoyed him profoundly that his faction somehow _expected_ him to be a slacker. Even worse, whenever he did try to pull his weight, such as by waddling (his gait was no longer graceful,) over to the turret to see if Hotlink needed help, someone would always herd him back to his ledge or his nest, then ply him with whatever they had on hand which was edible, as if eating was the solitary thing expected of him.

“He was pretty active this orn,” chuckled Acid Storm when Thundercracker returned one orn. Starscream attempted to show them how much he wanted them to shut the frag up by glaring at them from his nest, but the idiots just beamed stupidly as if they found his discomfort adorable somehow. “Skywarp had to chase him from the turret three times! He worked on his plans for a while too.”

Starscream fixed Skywarp with a look of profound dislike, but his dumbaft trinemate was too busy staring admiringly at Thundercracker’s wings.

“Good to hear he had some energy,” said Thundercracker and he finally walked over to attend Starscream, who expressed his feelings by swatting at the fragger’s hand the second that he reached for him. Thundercracker evaded his swipe and hugged him, purring, “I love you, Star, did you have a good orn?”

“No,” hissed Starscream, struggling to get free, but it was impossible because the fragger had somehow gotten stronger. (Starscream refused to admit that he had gotten weaker, that his ridiculous newsparks were sapping his strength as well as making him sleepy.) “Stop talking about me like I’m a damned seekerling, I am still Winglord!”

“Star, nobody’s talking about you like you’re a seekerling, this is how mecha talk about gravid carriers,” said Thundercracker warmly, his side of the bond full of love and satisfaction at caring for him, which was sweetly annoying.

“Well, slag off, I’m your damned commander,” hissed Starscream, but nobody listened, and Thundercracker proceeded to spend a ridiculous amount of time cooing to Starscream’s midriff as if the spawn inside could hear him, which they most certainly could not given that they had no audials yet. It was especially annoying after Skywarp joined in, and Starscream committed himself to drinking himself into unconsciousness, just so that he wouldn’t have to listen to the dumbafts anymore.

With the dawn of the next local orn Thundercracker left again, so Starscream decided that he needed a fragging break from all the infernal coddling of his faction so that he could get some work done. With skill he extracted himself from under a still recharging Skywarp and made for the back entrance of the base, determined to escape. Igniting his thrusters with difficulty, he successfully made it to the ground and attempted to run, got tired of running within a few strides, then commenced ambling as swiftly as he could manage, cursing his maligned offspring with their ability to slow him down.

“Little pests,” growled Starscream, reaching a shaded part of the rock formation and settling down where he hopefully wouldn’t be seen. He drew out his datapad and stylus, biting the end of a claw as he tried to figure out how to move forwards with his design, only to peer up at the empty, vast blue sky.

The _Victory_ \- he was free of the _Nemesis,_ so why hadn’t he thought of the_ Victory?_ The _Victory_ could get them back to Cybertron, back to Vos, and it had more than enough firepower to blow the DJD’s _Peaceful Tyranny_ straight to Unicron. Overlord and his mecha onboard might be a problem, but if Starscream could convince them that Megatron had called them, get most of them to leave their ship, they’d have a transport home. It would be far better than waiting for his litter to be born, and the _Victory_ would have energon onboard as well as other useful supplies. It was a great plan, one with tremendous potential and -

_Vop!_

“Fragging Primus, Warp,” moaned Starscream as his distressed mate towered over him, blocking out the nice warm sun with his wings and generally being an aggravation.

“Why did you sneak off without me?” whined Skywarp. “Star, I need to stay with you so that I can protect you!”

“I have weapons and we are literally surrounded by land mines,” stated Starscream crossly.

“It doesn’t matter, you need me!” whimpered Skywarp, and a split klik later Starscream was back in his nest with him, trapped in Skywarp’s snuggly clutches.

“I’m trying to work,” Starscream tried to tell him, but Skywarp wasn’t listening, and Starscream’s traitorous frame was all over the glitch’s hugging. Resigned to multi-tasking again, he cuddled with his mate in the blankets, letting Skywarp obsessively protect him from currently non-existent foes. While he wrote out variations of a plan to attract and take over the Victory, Skywarp groomed him, running gentle claws all over his frame. Starscream might have been aroused by it, had he still possessed a libido, but carrier-coding had offlined that nonsense. His processor exhausted of ideas after several joors, he gave in to the urge to recharge and woke abruptly to severe nausea rippling through his gut. 

Jolting to his pedes, he staggered over to the base’s entrance and barely made it to his ledge before collapsing onto all fours, sides heaving, wings flicking lethargically as his frame worked to pump every last grisly bit of slag which had been stewing in his fuel tank since the beginning of his carrying out of it. It cut his glossa coming out and the sour taste of his own line energon filling his mouth triggered more helpless purging, Starscream hardly able to draw a vent, vaguely aware of his mecha shouting in panic. He was conscious of Skywarp beside him, holding him and keeping him from falling over the edge, but mostly all he was aware of was how searingly ill he felt, caustic tasting fuel tank liquid dripping from his intake along with his line energon.

“Nova Storm!” squeaked Skywarp, the sounds of Starscream’s torment drawing everyone who had been present in the base, Starscream seeing them as a colourful, frantic blur. Nobody seemed to know what to do, and even after his fuel tank was empty, cramping painfully and roaring that it was hungry again even as his nauseated frame kept heaving. After tormenting him for a groon it abated, leaving Starscream weak, dizzy and shuddering uncontrollably in a panicking Skywarp’s arms, sickened just seeing a cube of low grade which Sunstorm tried to hold out to him.

“What do we do?!” sobbed Skywarp. “Nova Storm, is he miscarrying?! What’s wrong with him?”

“I think he has fuel poisoning,” said Nova Storm. 

“So what do we do?!” yelped Skywarp. “How did he get fuel poisoning?!”

“I don’t know! He needs a medic - a proper medic!” said Nova Storm.

“We just have you!” exclaimed Skywarp.

“I don’t know! I’m a field medic, my training doesn’t cover this slag!”

Primus, he was surrounded by incompetence. Starscream sagged against his trinemate, and willed himself to get better through sheer force of will.

* * *

Thundercracker’s sharp optics caught the glint of a sleek bright blue fender through the tall coastal trees and he froze, crouching low in the fragrant ferns, his olfactory sensor working hard as he tried to decide whether or not it was just a car or a ground frame. A shift in movement revealed an Autobot brand and Thundercracker hissed silently, informing his companions with an angry wing jerk that this prey was best avoided. They always had to be dead certain that they could knock their victim out without being seen, both by the victim and any onlookers, including humans. Usually, a null ray barrel or blaster to the helm worked best; they avoided using their telltale claws and null rays themselves. They did not dare have anything give them away - not for the future which they were trying to build, their chance at life which they were straining to preserve.

A spoiler meant that the grounder was fast - it also meant that they had light armour, which would give easily under a blow. Thundercracker had killed thousands of such ground frames over the course of the war - due to their speed, they always thought that they were superior until a seeker was coming down on top of them.

His olfactory sensor caught on a trace of an odour which made him curl up his lip - the perfume of a Towers mech - the grounder below was Mirage. Thundercracker stiffened as memories of his trinemates furiously debating (Starscream jealously, Skywarp aghastly,) how Mirage somehow still had fancy polish after so many centravorns. Skywarp had theorized that Mirage’s room was just completely full of crates of the stuff, and they had both joked at length (sometimes somewhat seriously,) about stealing it for Starscream. (But then, Thundercracker had been swift to point out, eager to kibosh such nonsense, Starscream would stink like a _grounder.)_

Thundercracker shifted his wings back. He hated Mirage - the grounder’s spark sigma was extraordinarily annoying, and he hated the way that the froufrou mech smelled, like he had sprayed sweet rock crystal all over himself, except_ fake_ rock crystal. It was nothing like the way Starscream had smelled in the palace - the odour which had made Thundercracker press his nose under his then-new carrier-mate’s chin and lick, just for a better taste of the beautiful little royal who had become his. Starscream had smelled of class, of his noble bearing, and Thundercracker remembered being completely enchanted by him as he had lain curled up at the head of their berth in the light of their quarters’ big window, hissing at them because despite all his efforts to appear the domineering royal he had been shy, because he had not even been a single centravorn old yet. Compared to Thundercracker and Skywarp, he’d practically been a sparkling still, and his youth had been cut very short by the Functionists.

Mirage’s engine revved noisily, and Thundercracker let the slagheap move on, unaware that he had been stalked. Thundercracker silently told himself that he let the spy go because he would have been too quick, but really he just didn’t want to discover a tub of his nasty smelling polish in his subspace which he’d then feel obligated to bring to his ridiculous royal trinemate. Thankfully, by the time they could spark bond again, his almost-attack on Mirage would be too distant a memory to think about, so Starscream wouldn’t know that it had ever happened.

Annoying human music blared from around the corner of the road below and Thundercracker flattened his wings further, only to feel his spark flicker nervously as two Autobots whom he hated even more than Mirage cruised by below. Soft, subsonic growls declared that Crosswind and his trinemates recognized the terror twins too, Thundercracker flexing his claws but harshly resisting the urge to charge down the embankment to take vengeance for fellow seekers lost. Again, he waited, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe cruising off, none the wiser, still singing along to their stupid song. Another Autobot moved by, and Thundercracker grimly decided that they had stumbled upon an entire platoon of the fraggers.

The group was going somewhere - not that Thundercracker cared where, and he contemplated looking for a better ambush position from where he would have a better view of the group, but their current tight scattering of trees was too perfect. The thick canopy kept light from reaching their frames, and the branches disguised their forms, the seekers half shuttering their optics to minimize their scarlet gleam.

Optimus Prime himself drove by on the narrow road, and Thundercracker ex-vented in disappointment as no others followed - the group was too small as well as too tightly packed to attack. He waited until there was silence, the road below dead again, then he retreated deeper into the forest, Crosswind and his disappointed trine following, stepping carefully to avoid leaving too many tracks.

A whiff of energon made Thundercracker sharply halt then crouch, his comrades following his lead. Something heavy - perhaps nearly as heavy as they were - stirred in the underbrush, and Thundercracker bared his claws in preparation for an attack. The trees ahead shifted, and Crosswind’s trine flinched lower as up ahead there was a gleam of wide blue optics, set in a frame which was even more hard to see than Mirage’s when his spark gift was online amongst all the greenery.

Hound - the Autobot’s prize tracker and resident human-liker.

There was no point hiding anymore. Thundercracker rose to his full height and spread his wings, trying to intimidate the Autobot into leaving them alone.

“Um, hi, Th-Thundercracker,” said Hound uncertainly, lifting his servos in surrender. “It-it’s good to see that you’re okay, Op-Optimus has been wanting to talk to you… ever since Dogfight was hurt. We… we want D-Dogfight’s wing back, you know? Please? Fastcut and Greenflit said that Acid Storm said that you’re no longer Decepticons.”

Thundercracker didn’t answer, suspiciously studying the forest behind Hound, convinced somehow that the ground frame outlier wasn’t alone.

“Please,” repeated Hound pleadingly. “Please, he’s going to go crazy without it, and… and we know about Starscream. Ratchet’s worried about him.”

Thundercracker let his own spark gift come online, its eerie ring echoing through the trees and making Hound flinch, yelping, “Please, I mean you no harm! I speak honestly - Prime ordered everyone not to attack you!”

“Why would the mecha who had my trinemate impregnated against his will care about his welfare?” growled Thundercracker, his null rays thrumming online too. “Your mecha violated us, could have ruined us, had us killed!”

“Th-that’s why we feel responsible - well, at least some of us do! Ratchet does!” squeaked Hound. “It - we recognize it as a war crime, we do. We Autobots - we’re not faultless, and we’re worried - worried that Starscream might need help! We know that he hasn’t seen a medic since he was sparked! Ratchet said that he needs to be checked on and examined!”

Disgusted, Thundercracker turned away and started stalking off, Crosswind covering his departure as Hound cried, “Please! Thundercracker, listen to me! Your newsparks are the first ones in ages, we want them to be okay, it doesn’t matter to us who their creators are!”

Thundercracker flicked a wing in dismissal, only to take off running, making for the logging road which they had landed upon. Seeing a flash of hated primary colours up ahead, he skidded to a halt and pinned his wings back as he recognized the terror twins. He changed direction, running for the road which they had lain in ambush beside instead, and immediately heard transformation sequences. Chirping to his escort trine to keep running, Thundercracker stopped and waited until he could see Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s faces, the grounders looking dementedly thrilled, and released his spark sigma. 

_ ** KRAKABOOM!** _

He didn’t pause to watch the pair stumble into the quivering trees, the twins’ equilibrium knocked off kilter; he sprinted for the road through a rain of falling pine cones, frowning as he failed to hear thrusters. Finally he saw Crosswind and his trine crouched nervously behind the last brake of trees, looking down at the road where Optimus Prime was standing beside Jazz.

Who else was hiding amongst the trees? Perceptor? Bluestreak?

“Thundercracker of Vos,” rumbled Optimus Prime. “I wish to speak with you, if you have a breem.”

An uneven stamp of pedes made Thundercracker whirl to face the still stumbling terror twins, Sideswipe huffing, “Fragging seeker! I’ll get you for that!”

“Sideswipe!” boomed Optimus Prime as Thundercracker hissed at the Technicolor menaces. “Thundercracker is no longer a Decepticon!”

“That doesn’t absolve him of his crimes!” snapped Sideswipe.

“Crimes? You’re one to talk, you’ve killed entire trines, slagheap!” snarled Crosswind. “You and your hideous brother are fragging psychos!”

“Like to see you take off in these trees, glitch,” growled Sunstreaker.

“If you wanted to ‘talk’ then why the Pit did you bring these aft helms?” demanded Thundercracker of the Prime. There was a crash as Optimus Prime started climbing the hill, which Sideswipe and Sunstreaker apparently took as permission to attack, both lunging sloppily, their gyros still off kilter. Thundercracker dodged and ignited his thrusters to leap over Sunstreaker, then ran back for the logging road, his panicked escort trine right on his heels. The very nanoklik that they were able they were blasting into the air, a dull _thwump_ going off as they broke the sound barrier. Safely out of range from the ground frame Autobots within mere moments, Thundercracker began planning a flight path which would confuse anyone tracking them.

::Sir, look below - is it just me, or is that one of the Autobot medics?:: said Crosswind suddenly.

Thundercracker banked violently and immediately saw an oddly marked ambulance driving by itself below. There was no mistaking it at all - it was Ratchet himself.

::Autoglitch had my carrier-mate sparked; Autoglitch can make sure my litter’s okay,:: announced Thundercracker, and cutting his thrusters, he dove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the two chapters today, folks; uploads may be a teensy bit slow for a bit because I'm working on the end and I need to make sure that everything's working well. Thank you again so much for reading! I hope that everyone's doing well during this pandemic craziness; I personally have been laid off due to my place of employment being deemed non-essential, so I am spending most days at home and since parks/trails are closed here, when I get stir crazy I have been going for drives around the countryside (feeling very grateful for my car.) I really hope that this mess ends soon so that things can get back to normal for everybody! Stay healthy and safe, lovelies!


	34. Defection to Home

Starscream had reasonably hoped that he would live forever - he was durable. He’d survived being shot with Megatron’s fusion cannon, being hit with blasters, stabbed, and all manner of other Pit. Despite this, he now appeared to be dying because some idiot (potentially Skyfire,) had thought that it would be a splendid idea to force newsparks upon him. He lay on his berth in nauseous agony, his insides screeching their hatred of his carrying protocols which had made him eat so much dumb slag, obviously poisoning himself. No wonder he hadn’t been able to consume that much energon lately - his fuel tank had been too full of literal scrap. He was too weak to even move and all attempts to feed him low grade had ended up with it on the floor, violently expelled from his fuel tank. A pall had fallen over his faction, and he knew that they fully expected his death now too. (He could tell because Slipstream looked thoroughly delighted, like she was already planning her coronation.)

“Star, I love you, I love you,” whimpered Skywarp, his arms wrapped tight around Starscream’s limp frame, his wings spread to cover him. “Please feel better, please. I don’t wanna lose you, I love you too much.”

Starscream felt like he lacked the energy to even make his vocalizer work, so he tried to express his reciprocation as hard as he could through their bond. He felt Skywarp’s warm tears on his neck and he shuttered his optics, unable to watch, wishing that he had the strength to make his silly trinemate smile again.

“Looks like Thundercracker has returned,” noted Nacelle quietly from the base entrance. “He… um, Acid Storm -”

Acid Storm ran past Starscream’s berth, and he had a sense of them whispering together, then Acid Storm was shouting for mecha to come help. Starscream wondered nervously if Thundercracker was hurt but he had not felt it, if this was the reason for the hubboo, and felt Skywarp twitch in surprise, just as there were brisk pedesteps, their bond suddenly flooded with _triumph/satisfaction/protect_ from Thundercracker’s end. Skywarp recoiled, hissing in confused rebuke and Starscream suddenly heard the shuffling of someone resisting, Nacelle snarling in Neocybex, “Move it, ground frame! You did this to him, you fix it!”

There was a gasp, someone pushed to their knees in front of Starscream’s berth, and he looked weakly up to see the Autobot medic Ratchet staring up at him in open horror, Nacelle holding a blindfold.

“What happened to you, Starscream?” demanded Ratchet.

“What ‘happened?’” repeated Thundercracker in a hiss. “You had us spark him against his will!”

Ratchet winced, “May I please have my servos free? I need to examine him; Skywarp, what led to his current state? What are his symptoms?”

Skywarp started telling the humiliating tale of misery as the ground frame medic began gently feeling Starscream’s middle. Starscream’s servos twitched, and he managed a weak growl, but that was as far as he got in protecting his frame parasites from being prodded. Skywarp lifted his wing aside so that Ratchet could scan him with the analysis device on his arm, and the medic ex-vented in relief. “Good news, mecha - the newsparks are currently alright. Carrier though… isn’t. He needs to be hospitalized and put on an energon drip as well as his fuel tank needs to be cleaned out. Whichever one of you guessed that he had fuel poisoning was correct; additionally…” Starscream whined involuntarily as the medic poked in his mouth, “…his intake is lacerated from all the scrap he ate trying to supplement himself. He couldn’t digest it and it came out in sharp pieces. The reason he’s been in pain all this time is because his frame appears to be cannibalizing itself for the sake of the newsparks.”

“How can we trust you, Autobot?” demanded Acid Storm.

“Because he’s my damned patient and I have no intention of letting him or the first newsparks conceived in eons die,” snapped Ratchet, a _pop_ sounding as he opened a large case which he pulled out of his subspace. “For Starscream’s protection I have the support of Optimus Prime, and Autobot High Command wants to speak with you about your claims of neutrality.”

“We’re not neutral,” corrected Bitstream, “we’re Vosian, and anti-Megatron.”

“Then you and the Autobot cause have something in common,” said Ratchet, readying a syringe. He showed it to Starscream, who read the label as Ratchet declared aloud, “This is medication which will make him more comfortable by curbing his nausea and a little of his pain. Starscream, can you confirm that you know what it is?”

Starscream managed the weakest twitch of a wing.

“Yes, Starscream says yes,” translated Thundercracker to the confused looks this garnered. “Give it to him, then.”

Starscream felt so awful that the syringe jabbed into his right arm’s main fuel line stung like a stab wound, yet he lacked the strength to even squeak about it or gasp. Ratchet showed him a second syringe, this one full of something opaque and white, the medic waiting patiently while he read its ingredient list, then pulsed agreement over the bond.

“Starscream gives permission for that syringe,” said Thundercracker. He frowned, “What is it?”

“A supplement,” said Ratchet. “I was hoping actually to run into one of you, I just wasn’t expecting to be… abducted.” He sighed, “Those syringes are about the extent of what I can do for him here; he needs to be taken to the Ark and spend time in my intensive care unit.”

“Um,” said Skywarp, breaking the uncomfortable silence which answered this reassertion that Starscream needed to be in a medical bay, “if you know that our newsparks are alright, do you know how many there are?”

Ratchet actually smiled, “That I can tell you - there are three.”

A murmur of approval echoed through the watching seekers and Starscream saw his mates grin at him, the bond full of their pride that they had sired a proper litter.

“Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure how to transport Starscream to the _Ark,_ given that your former comrades the Decepticons saw fit to steal our ground bridge,” said Ratchet dryly. “Wheeljack’s trying to build a replacement, but it’s going to take longer than Starscream has and I’m sure you understand that he isn’t currently in a state capable of flight.”

Starscream wanted to laugh at how typical it was - the Autobots finally managed to create an advantage for themselves, only for the Decepticons to run off with it like gleeful sparklings stealing candy.

“We need to discuss this, Lord Thundercracker,” said Acid Storm in Vosian. “I don’t trust the Autobots - what if they take His Majesty in, only to kill him and your litter? I am not sure they understand that we are not their enemies any longer, and there are many of them whom we can never trust. Remember Dogfight.”

“If you’re talking about Dogfight I want his wing back by the way,” interjected Ratchet crossly in Neocybex, unable to understand anything except for his fellow Autobot’s Vosian designation. He glared at Skywarp, “I know that you took it, Skywarp.”

Skywarp glared resentfully back and hugged Starscream tighter.

“Ratchet, Crosswind’s trine and I were attacked by the Pit twins just this orn before we encountered you,” growled Thundercracker. “What assurance can you give us that those heaps of scrap won’t try to kill us? Starscream was also attacked by Dogfight.”

“We protected you from such mecha when we held you captive and we will do it again,” said Ratchet, overly simplistically, Starscream thought. “While you were… _sating_ Starscream’s heat, Optimus Prime himself and Ironhide stood guard. Don’t get me wrong, Thundercracker - there are Autobots whom you definitely shouldn’t trust - but I am not one of them, nor is Optimus Prime. And, since you are no longer Decepticons, I feel those who don’t trust you currently may come around some orn - you never know.”

“That’s slag assurance,” growled Hotlink.

“We don’t trust you, Autobot,” hissed Slipstream, finally saying something intelligent for once.

“The Royal Litter and our Winglord mean everything to us,” huffed Ion Storm. “Do you really expect us to surrender our most vulnerable faction members to your care?”

“Yes! Because they will die, otherwise!” snapped Ratchet. “I care about the newsparks too - do you know how many comrades I’ve had to send to the fragging morgue? Especially ones I’d only just repaired? I’m getting sick of it, and unless this damned war ends, it’s going to extinguish us! We’re going extinct you know!”

“We know that fact very well,” growled Thundercracker. “Why do you think we hesitate about allowing our only carrier in a creator state to leave our immediate protection? Never mind that he is _mine!”_

Starscream attempted to growl in annoyance; it came out as an agitated sigh instead. He thought as pointedly as he could of the Autobot’s group of medics, and Thundercracker straightened with a hiss, “If you really want to show goodwill towards us, grounder, then we’ll take you back to the _Ark_ and you’ll grab what you need to save Starscream. Astrotrain will carry you there and back.” 

Astrotrain, who had been watching the series of events like an old sitcom, abruptly choked on his cube of petroleum, making Blitzwing snicker. Thundercracker shot them a glare, continuing, “You will be our guest while Starscream is healed; as a show of Autobot goodwill, since you put Starscream in this situation, since you express care for the newsparks whom you made sure exist, you will do this. You must admit that Starscream staying here is better than him being transported; his frame has been taxed enough this orn, especially since your comrades allowed Megatron to take your ground bridge.”

“Thundercracker -” Ratchet began to protest.

“That’s _Lord_ Thundercracker, especially to you, ground frame!” hissed Slipstream.

“Starscream -”

_ “Winglord Starscream!”_ snarled Slipstream, Starscream dimly amazed.

“Fine! Winglord Starscream needs to be on an energon drip immediately!” snapped Ratchet.

“You’re a battlefield medic; don’t you already have the things you need for that?” demanded Thundercracker coolly, and the scowling medic dug into his subspace, producing a full pack of energon so pure that it was clear, as well as a kit to connect it into Starscream’s lines.

“Do you have any mecha with medical training?” demanded Ratchet as he started setting it up, Starscream flinching weakly as the needle was inserted into his right elbow.

“The Winglord and Nova Storm,” said Dirge.

“Fine - Nova Storm, I’m counting on you to take care of this until I return,” ordered Ratchet, handing the bag of energon over as Nova Storm reached for it. “He should start feeling a little better with fresh fuel in his lines, hopefully well enough to recharge while I am away.” The medic glared at Starscream’s dominant sire-mate, “Alright, Lord Thundercracker, the faster that we get to the _Ark_ the faster that we’ll be back here.”

“Astrotrain, Blitzwing, Dirge, Nacelle,” ordered Thundercracker, pointing at the base entrance. The selected trines, named by their trineleaders, immediately filed out, followed by the triple-changers, Astrotrain gulping back a second cube of petroleum. 

“Lord Thundercracker, take Jadewing too,” suggested Acid Storm as Ratchet hesitantly followed the fliers outside (Starscream could hear him grumbling about the profound lack of stairs or ladders leading to the ground.) “I will take care of things here.”

“Thank you,” said Thundercracker as the third trine left, a squawk from Ratchet implying that he had been grabbed by someone. Thundercracker knelt beside Starscream and cupped his cheek, Starscream attempting to glare, but too weak. He refused to get distressed because Thundercracker was leaving; Thundercracker was always leaving these orns, and he’d felt worse. Yes, surely he’d felt worse…

“You’re going to be alright, love,” whispered Thundercracker, kissing his forehelm. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

“Hurry, TC,” whined Skywarp, and Thundercracker nuzzled them both before running out, Starscream feeling peculiarly alone without him.

* * *

Thundercracker appreciated having Astrotrain carry the Autobot medic - it meant that he didn’t have to do it again. They’d managed a sort of awkward sling between him and Crosswind’s trine to share the weight, but it had been slow, plus Ratchet definitely hadn’t appreciated it. Thankfully, the only time the Autobot had struggled had been when they had initially ambushed him, then he had been stalk still for the rest of the flight, probably because he had been terrified and couldn’t see a damned thing thanks to the blindfold which they had wrapped around his helm. He still couldn’t see a damned thing now, but at least enclosed in Astrotrain’s hold he had an illusion of safety.

::We’re nearing the_ Ark_ now, sir,” reported Dirge, just in time for blips to appear on their radar. ::We have Aerialbots incoming.”

Thundercracker opened a broad comm channel, ::Aerialbots and _Ark_ Control, this is Lord Thundercracker of the Vosian Royal Air Force requesting permission to enter your airspace and land. We are carrying your Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet, who is unharmed.::

::Aerialbots and _Ark_ Control this is Ratchet, the seeker’s telling the truth,:: griped Ratchet on the same frequency as the Aerialbots swept closer. ::Let us fragging land so that I can stretch my damned legs.::

::N-negative, Ratchet, those are seekers, those -:: protested a voice.

::Red Alert, take a pill and get me Optimus,:: demanded Ratchet.

::Ratchet, this is Prowl,:: growled a voice on the other end.

::I said _Optimus,_ Red Alert!:: snapped Ratchet. ::And tell First Aid and Hoist to get ready to help me grab stuff, I’m on a tight time frame to help a patient who’ll net us a lot of goodwill.::

::Explain,:: intoned Prowl coldly as the Aerialbots banked past Thundercracker’s flight group and fell into a flanking pattern around them. They didn’t attack, apparently escorting them in.

::Prowl, I need to talk to Optimus!:: snarled Ratchet adamantly.

::Optimus is scheduled to be in recharge at this time -:: hissed Prowl.

::Ratchet, what is it?:: rumbled Optimus Prime finally, and Thundercracker listened closely as Ratchet filled him in with furious interjections from other Autobots, noisiest of all being Prowl. Despite this, nobody shot at them as they came within sight of the _Ark,_ and Optimus Prime was waiting with the typically scowling Praxian as well as some of his other command staff as they flew up. Thundercracker dared to land right in front of the Prime, and could not help feeling a little perturbed as Jazz beamed at him. Ironhide, Wheeljack and Perceptor were also there - as well as a filtering of other Autobots, unfortunately including the terror twins.

“Th’frag is this, Optimus?” demanded Sideswipe, stomping forwards. 

“Back off, Sideswipe,” snapped Ratchet, unexpectedly immediately coming to Thundercracker’s side as he was freed from Astrotrain and brandishing a wrench. Dogfight’s wing (reluctantly acquired from Skywarp,) was under his arm. “These mecha are _not_ Decepticons anymore, and therefore are not_ enemies!_ Get that through your thick helm! You too, Sunstreaker - don’t even try it, Cliffjumper! Take another step closer and I’ll take away your high grade rations for an entire vorn!”

“Ratchet, he’s a _seeker_ -” cried Sideswipe incredulously.

“Oh, I somehow hadn’t noticed, Sideswipe,” snapped Ratchet, Thundercracker cocking his helm in amazement as he considered that the grounder might just be as condescending as Starscream. “I must be blind! Of course he’s a fragging seeker you moron, and since he isn’t a Decepticon, that means you have _no_ right whatsoever to attack him anymore. Your orns of jet judo are over! And thank Primus, I was getting sick of repairing you idiots.” 

Ratchet slapped Thundercracker’s arm almost companionably, as if to prove that they were friends now, which they weren’t, but Thundercracker refrained from doing anything more than shifting his wings in annoyance as the medic declared, “All of you back away from the seekers and triple changers. Now. Note the lack of Decepticon brands? Yes? Understood? That’s the _Vosian_ crest! Amazing! Optimus, do me a favour and control these ninnies while I grab my slag; come on, Lord Thundercracker.”

“My guards come with me,” stated Thundercracker as Dirge’s trine stepped forwards immediately.

“Great, they can help,” said Ratchet. “Not that any of you will understand what I’m grabbing.”

“Ratchet! We cannot allow these mecha into our base!” snapped Prowl, jumping to bar their way.

“Of course we can; this is a goodwill mission, Prowl, and I’m in a damned hurry,” retorted Ratchet. “Optimus? You’re making sure nothing happens out here?”

“Don’t worry, old friend,” assured Optimus Prime. “Do what you must - the newsparks must be saved.”

“Damned right,” said Ratchet and Thundercracker walked freely into the Autobot base at his side, lifting his wings proudly against the mutinous glares which were sent his way. Dirge’s trine were close behind them, the rest of his seekers left outside with the triple changers. Within the _Ark_ it was as bizarrely orange as Thundercracker remembered from the times he had breached the place and they were soon at the medical bay, where Ratchet instantly started barking orders at his mecha. Ignoring their scowls, Thundercracker sniffed and leaving the coneheads to watch over Ratchet, he prowled over to an ajar door, peering inside. Crimson optics within onlined, and he stared at the trine who were huddled around their injured member, Dogfight sedated on the medical berth. Dogfight’s trinemates recoiled uncertainly, tucking their wings, and Thundercracker pushed the door open further, spreading his wings so that they could see the Vosian sigils.

“You can come home with us, if you want,” clicked Thundercracker in Vosian. He turned away and there was immediately a beep of distressed medical equipment behind him, which he pretended to ignore, even as one of the Autobot medics demanded what was happening. A scuffling, then Dogfight’s trinemates were at his side, supporting the limp Dogfight between them, Thundercracker inquiring, “Your designations?”

“I’m Fastcut, this is Greenflit, and you know Dogfight,” said the sire-coded femme. “We want to go home. We’re sick of fighting you, and we just want to fly in peace again.”

“I repeat: what the slag are you doing with him?!” demanded First Aid again.

“We’re going home, First Aid,” said Greenflit breathlessly, tears in her optics. “We’re returning to Vos.”

“What are you talking about? Dogfight needs surgery, he needs -” snapped First Aid.

“He’s coming with us, right,_ Lord_ Thundercracker?” said Ratchet. He nodded to Hoist, “Pack me up two spark monitors. Looks like Astrotrain’s got a long flight ahead of him.”

“He’ll manage,” said Thundercracker as the Coneheads stared at him incredulously. “We’re Vosian, Dirge.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dirge, with a sliding glance of shock at Dogfight’s trine. Within a breem they were ready, Hoist helping Ratchet wheel out his crates of chosen medical equipment and supplies on a dolley. They reached the base entrance, where all was tense yet where nothing had been blown up, and Thundercracker smiled at the sight of the Autobots’ second trine of seekers on Earth awaiting them with eager grins. Prowl was looking absolutely livid but Thundercracker ignored him, turning to Optimus Prime as Astrotrain groaned at how much slag he was going to have to carry.

“Thank you, for allowing Ratchet to help us,” said Thundercracker.

“I pray that we may become an alliance, Lord Thundercracker, and that this proves to be a step towards a better future for all,” said Optimus Prime.

“Excuse me! Where are they going?!” hissed Prowl angrily of the former Autobot seekers.

“I believe that they are returning home, Prowl,” said Optimus Prime benevolently. “As they should.”

“Traitors!” shouted Sideswipe. 

“And I believe Sideswipe has just given reason for why they are defecting,” sighed Optimus Prime.

“Can you blame them? Honestly,” snapped Ratchet. “I’ll be back when all of my patients are healthy again, Optimus. First Aid has control of the medical bay while I’m gone and if Drift shows up tell him to contact me.”

“Where exactly are you going?” asked Ironhide.

“I don’t know,” said Ratchet, “_Lord_ Thundercracker and his seekers are rightfully secretive about their base, considering that there’s mecha like Sideswipe in the world, but I’ll be fine.” He turned away and walked over to the waiting Astrotrain, thumping the shuttle-framed triple changer’s side with, “Let’s go, fly mech, it’s going to be a long night.”

“What? You’re probably just going to recharge while I carry your heavy aft and all of your equipment, you slagheap!” cried Astrotrain.

“No, I’ll be monitoring Dogfight,” said Ratchet, and he climbed aboard, the shuttle grumpily closing his hatch then taxiing away down the road. Thundercracker nodded to the Prime, then ignited his thrusters at which they were off, Astrotrain climbing to meet them. The Aerialbots escorted them out of Autobot airspace, then lingered a while longer, saying their goodbyes to the former Autobot seekers before turning back for the _Ark._ Relieved to be pointed homeward once more, Thundercracker settled into cruising speed, praying to Primus that Starscream was still alright.


	35. A Prince of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is flirting and Skyfire is revolted.

General Slater and Yellowstreak were the only mecha from Vos who came to Starscream’s graduation from the University of Iacon. Nobody else deigned to come - none of them believed in Starscream’s education as more than a brief distraction before he got on with his ‘real life.’ Nobody cheered except Yellowstreak when Starscream walked across the stage to receive his earned degrees, and Starscream thought that the only reason that Slater dared to let Yellowstreak draw such attention to himself was because they were perched in the rafters of the theatre hall where the ceremony was taking place, safely beyond the reach of any grounders. Skyfire clapped like mad, and so did most of the faculty, but it was to roaring silence that Flashpoint proudly declared him the best of their vorn. Skyfire, unsurprisingly and to even more awkward quiet, took second place, proving without a doubt, to the scowls of hundreds, that flight frames could be the best.

“Star, I’m so proud of you!” trilled Yellowstreak as he bounced up the moment that Starscream was free of the theatre.

“Star, who’s this?” beamed Skyfire, speaking his usual good Vosian as he turned from hugging his own family to see Starscream entangled with his loudly purring and very ecstatic younger brother - who, against all odds, to Starscream’s profound jealousy - was sire-coded.

“Remember what I said,” breathed Starscream in Yellowstreak’s audial.

“Yellowstreak!” exclaimed Yellowstreak, obediently leaving off the ‘prince’ and grinning at Skyfire as Starscream let go of him. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Skyfire, Star said you were cool.”

“He did? I think he’s fabulous too,” said Skyfire. “Did you hear that he got first place in best grades?”

“Yes, and you got second!” grinned Yellowstreak. “Slate heard too, right Slate?”

“Absolutely, we’re very proud,” said Slater, grabbing Starscream for his own hug. He smiled at Skyfire, his frame language lazy while his gaze had laser focus, “So what’s happening now, Skyfire? Big job plans?”

“Actually, Star and I are hoping -” began Skyfire, but he was cut off by the arrival of a flustered but very happy looking Flashpoint.

“My finest students! I’m here to congratulate you properly; well done!” declared Flashpoint, seizing their servos and shaking them jovially, one in each of his hands. He looked around and beamed at Slater and Yellowstreak, “My, my! Starscream, I don’t recall ever seeing any kin of yours here before, I know that I have met Skyfire’s.”

“It’s a special occasion, so we had to come celebrate it with him, of course,” said Slater, slipping protective arms around Starscream and Yellowstreak’s waists. “I am Slate, a long time family friend of Starscream’s; this is Yellow, his little brother. Unfortunately I’m afraid that his creators could not come.”

Skyfire’s mouth opened slightly at the omission of Yellowstreak’s full name, but thankfully he didn’t say anything, Flashpoint exclaiming, “It is wonderful to meet you both! It’s quite a shame that Starscream’s creators could not come, but I suppose you can pass on what I am about to say.” He turned to Starscream and Skyfire, beaming, “Starscream, Skyfire, I want to hire you both as junior field professors; say yes, and you’ll get to explore the stars and put the University of Iacon on the map as a centre for scientific excellence!”

“Of course,” said Skyfire immediately.

Starscream glanced at Slater, wondering, and the mech answered his silent query by declaring, “Well, Starscream, wouldn’t you love to do that?”

“Yes,” said Starscream, relieved.

“Excellent, you’re hired!” beamed Flashpoint. “We’ll go over the details later - for now, let’s celebrate your wonderful achievement! Well done, my young professors!”

Starscream ex-vented, daring to believe that maybe he really could escape his fate.

* * *

He was very glad that Slater had already left for Vos and taken Yellowstreak home, that no other seekers were present when they found out that becoming interstellar explorers meant that he might be absent from Iacon - from _Cybertron_ \- for vorns, even potentially decavorns at a time. Skyfire went to Helex to get his space upgrades and a second specialist from Praxus was brought for Starscream. He sat on the medical berth, watching nervously as the specialist, who was half seeker, got everything ready, the medic remarking to Flashpoint, “I’m giving him guns - you better be fine with that. You know he’ll need them for protecting himself and the shuttle if you’re sending him off to other worlds.”

“That’s no problem at all,” said Flashpoint happily. “Whatever you believe that he needs for their safety, he should have. I’m just glad that you were able to come in.”

“It’s good that you asked me; I wouldn’t trust a medic from Iacon with a seeker with the way things are currently going,” huffed the Praxian hybrid. “For all we know, they’d perform empurata on the poor mech.”

“That’s part of the reason why I want to get them off of Cybertron,” said Flashpoint earnestly as the medic gently made Starscream lay down and stuck a needle in his arm, stroking one of his wings the same way that Raindrop often did to calm her patients too. “Flight frames are amazing, and I want my young mechs to be safe from all these politics, free to work, to reach their potentials as great scientists. I don’t like how things are going under Sentinel Prime.”

“I don’t either,” said the medic emphatically. “Even though it isn’t needed, I appreciate you staying to watch and take care of this seeker as well because these mecha are really starting to get victimized. Mecha are scared of seekers because of that ‘war frame’ propaganda slag, but you’ll never meet a more social, sensitive and friendly mech than a seeker when he hasn’t been taught to fear you.”

Starscream shifted, unnerved by the sensation of the sedative flooding his lines, and the medic attended him, crooning, “It’s okay, sweetspark, you’re alright, I’m going to make you nice and space worthy, then you can get away from all this slag.” The last thing he heard before he blacked out was the medic conversationally telling Flashpoint how important seekers were to Praxus, how they were frequently employed in the citystate’s renowned police force. When he came back online, Flashpoint was still there keeping him company, and rather than have him return to his lonely little dorm room which he was slated to leave, the dean had him transported to his own apartment where Starscream recovered from his surgery under the kind care of Flashpoint’s conjunx, Destiny, who was just as nice as he was.

“Flashpoint, there aren’t supposed to be flight frames in here, they’re not allowed - didn’t you read the rules?” snapped one of Flashpoint’s neighbours when Flashpoint was escorting Starscream outside to see if he could fly well enough to return safely to his dorm room. Starscream was still a little sore - the space upgrades and guns had been much more intensive than the onlining of his null rays. 

“He’s a friend and he just needed to stay for a couple of orns,” huffed Flashpoint. “He’s as harmless as anyone else.”

“He sure don’t look harmless with those damned null rays,” growled the neighbour.

“Null rays knock a mech unconscious, they don’t kill,” defended Flashpoint.

“Dear, come on,” said Destiny impatiently, taking Starscream’s servo and pulling him through the doors into the wind, where Starscream’s wings immediately flicked in excitement, his thrusters coming online. She grinned at Flashpoint, who stopped grumbling about their neighbour to beam back, both of them watching Starscream’s reaction to being in open air. Destiny stepped back, declaring, “Well, Star? You gonna fly for us?”

“Thank you for letting me stay,” said Starscream, lifting his wings to catch more of the wind. “I think I’ll fly just fine.”

“Then I will see you at work in a couple of orns, remember what your medic said,” smiled Flashpoint and Starscream launched himself, transforming then rocketing the height of their building plus some in a single klik then banking hard to give them a show, diving sharply then swinging into a barrel roll half a hic above their helms. They waved to him and he performed one last flyby before shooting back towards the university, where he reluctantly retired to his dorm room to rest some more. The next orn Skyfire was back, so Starscream went to have a look at the staff dorms with him since Flashpoint had offered them board as part of their employment package.

Since they would be living together in space, it seemed foolish to not be roommates the rest of their time, and they quickly agreed to the first apartment they saw when they noticed that it had huge windows. Starscream did surgery on his old dorm room, removing Slater’s security upgrades, and reinstalled them in the doorway of his new berthroom, giving himself a bolt hole for when he was home. He couldn’t install incendiary-proof glass or armour the walls, but he doubted that such things were needed. Skyfire was confused about what he was doing to their new apartment, and wondered whether it violated the rental agreement, but Starscream was careful to make it look as though nothing at all had changed. 

“It’s so cool that we live together now,” grinned Skyfire when they were finally done, curled up together on their couch and watching television together. The furniture in the place was old and if Killjoy had seen it he would have been appalled by how dated the apartment was (not to mention that Starscream was_ sharing_ it with Skyfire - the place was smaller than his suite in the palace,) but Starscream felt good because he had chosen it, plus he never had to be away from Skyfire anymore. They were together, they were happy, and they could do whatever they wanted, which currently meant drinking spiked jet grade from Helex while watching a wildly inaccurate documentary on Caminus. Starscream felt particularly smug because he was laying on top of Skyfire, who was paying more attention to him than to the dumb Camien show, doing an exemplary job of petting Starscream’s wings.

Starscream loved the attention and he preened, making sure that Skyfire admired him, the shuttle sighing happily, “Soon we’ll be in space.”

Starscream purred; soon, he’d be beyond even Slater’s reach.

* * *

“Alright, mecha, I’ve been told that you two have been doing an exemplary job at your long distance flight training, so it’s time you got up into orbit!” announced Flashpoint when he walked into the lab which they had been assigned. Starscream and Skyfire sat up straighter, but their direct boss, Tensor, scowled - the only reason he at all tolerated them was because he wanted the specimens which only they would be able to retrieve since the university lacked the budget for an actual research ship. A vorn had passed since their preparations had begun and Starscream was getting nervous about his family noticing that he had already graduated, but so far Slater had not said anything, nor had Yellowstreak slipped up (but Yellowstreak, thankfully, had always been good at keeping secrets.) It was welcome news that they would be in space soon and Starscream shared an excited look with Skyfire.

“I’ve taken the liberty of bringing in someone from the University of Praxus to train you,” said Flashpoint happily. “He’ll teach you all the ins and outs, and how to be as safe as possible. I hope that you like him, he seems like quite a nice mech to me.”

“Well, where is he?” grouched Tensor impatiently.

“This way; I thought it best if Starscream and Skyfire met him outside, where they can fly,” smiled Flashpoint and they followed him, wondering across comms who it might be - they had heard of a few good xenoscientists from Praxus. One or two had even spent a metacycle training them on alien planet safety, hazards they might encounter on different worlds and how to deal with various kinds of weather. It had all been extremely fascinating, Starscream lapping it up like good energon which fed his desire to get out into space until it was like an inferno blazing inside of him. He couldn’t wait to see the wonders which awaited them, and he was grinning as he stepped outside of the field research building, only to stiffen, freezing as he felt something which he had only ever felt in the presence of Tanzing and Darklight before. 

A brilliant crimson seeker mech with vivid blue markings and optic-snatching metallic gold wingtips with a face almost as dark as his turned to look at him, Starscream instantly forgetting how to use his pedes. The beautiful wings - _Primus,_ he had never seen better, even at the palace - lifted, betraying interest, and Starscream’s plating fluffed as he sucked in a sharp vent, shocked besides himself. The mech smiled and Starscream’s spark seemed to _pull,_ so that he found himself shyly moving closer, everything else forgotten as he continued to eagerly survey the handsome stranger, who rather blatantly eyed him back, warbling a friendly trill which Starscream couldn’t help but reply to.

“Another seeker?” groaned Tensor in disgust. “Isn’t he wonderful? Professor Tensor, this is Professor Novaray from the University of Praxus,” said Flashpoint. 

Novaray seemed to tear his gaze away from Starscream reluctantly; Starscream shamelessly proceeded to circle him as Novaray declared, “Hello, Professor Tensor, it’s an honour to meet you, I’ve read many of your papers.”

Tensor scowled just as Starscream was deciding that he really liked Novaray’s aft. “I can’t say that I have ever heard of you.”

“Professor Novaray, this is Professor Skyfire,” declared Flashpoint as Starscream peered over the back of Novaray’s fantastic wings. Starscream was vaguely aware of Skyfire staring at him as if he had lost his mind, but he was too busy deciding things about the interloper in their midst.

“Hello, sir,” said Skyfire confusedly. He switched to Vosian, “Starscream, what are you doing?”

“I dunno,” said Starscream, because he didn’t really care, and Novaray didn’t seem to mind either, the scarlet seeker cocking his helm to watch him, drawing in Starscream’s scent much more politely and subtly than he had ever seen Strut do with Cloudbreak. Standing directly in the Praxian seeker’s electromagnetic field, Starscream could distinctly feel how excited his new acquaintance was about him and when he stepped around Novaray’s front again the mech flared his wings, showing them off, Starscream rearing back as he was distracted by their flashy wingtips.

“Star, you’re acting weird,” huffed Skyfire in Neocybex.

“I think it’s a seeker thing, Skyfire,” chuckled Flashpoint. “I feel like I don’t even have to introduce Starscream and Novaray, they seem to be getting quite well acquainted on their own.”

This was exactly the moment when Novaray ruined things, by daring to reach for Starscream, and Starscream, being far from any glaring old relatives, distinguished himself by hissing, then introducing the slagheap’s servo to his claws.

“Starscream!” yelped Skyfire in shock.

“It’s perfectly fine,” said Novaray, smirking as Starscream went haughtily back to Skyfire and growled at the other seeker softly. “My spark is resonating with his, so he’s within his rights to test me out.”

“He… what?” spluttered Skyfire.

“It’s a Seeker thing,” said Novaray dismissively, his gaze never entirely leaving Starscream. Starscream glared at him and licked the fragger’s sour tasting line energon off of his claws, even though he knew that it was unsanitary, because he intended the action as a threat. Novaray’s smile grew, uncowed, “We’ll be getting along together quite wonderfully.”

Tensor hazarded a glance between them, “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

“Oh, trust me,” said Novaray, annoyingly confident, “Starscream’s a seeker of calibre, and so am I. Shall we start? I want to see Starscream and Skyfire’s level of control in flight, then we’ll go from there, I think.”

Flashpoint chuckled his approval and Starscream immediately took off, determined to show the Praxian exactly how superior he was. He had never flown with Tanzing or Darklight before - it was something which only seekers who were actively courting were allowed to do - but the instance that Novaray joined him in the sky, Starscream knew that the Praxian seeker was fully serious about trying to impress him. Instantly the mech was pulling manueovers which would have made Strut jealous, which gave Starscream pause as he noted that Novaray was _fast_ \- not as fast as he was, certainly, but clearly faster than the majority of the seekers he had ever met. He swept into a holding pattern, watching and admiring the Praxian’s every move until Skyfire came up beside him with a bewildered, “What are we doing? I thought that he was testing _us.”_

But Novaray wasn’t the mech needing to be impressed - Starscream was - and Novaray so far was ticking every single box. The mech was fragging gorgeous, and as Novaray banked gracefully past, Starscream joined him, letting the idiot coax him into his courting dance. It was better than dancing on pedes - sky dancing was like poetry crossed with dog fighting and Starscream swiftly schooled his new acquaintance on which of them was better at it. They dove and rose, chased and spun, weaving their contrails until -

Starscream twirled off at a right angle, rejecting Novaray’s silent invitation to mate later with as much snobbery as he could muster, annoyed by the _nerve_ of him.

::Alright, Skyfire, your turn,:: said Novaray, sounding distinctly bored by the prospect of watching Skyfire fly. ::Tell me how you learned Vosian.::

::Starscream taught it to me,:: said Skyfire as irritable as Novaray was bored and seeming almost relieved as Starscream looped around to fly on the side of him which was opposite to Novaray. ::We wanted to be able to talk without grounders understanding us.::

::Well, you are commendably good at it,:: said Novaray as Starscream banked into a wide, swift circle around them, too fidgety with Novaray there to fly with Skyfire the same relaxed, easy way that he usually did. ::Your accent isn’t even terrible.::

::Thanks,:: grunted Skyfire and Starscream kept circling the rest of their flight, watching everything Novaray did intensely, yet without ever allowing the other seeker close. It was a relief when they landed, Novaray reporting that he was pleased (“…especially with Starscream, he flies extremely well,”) and Starscream fully expected to get away clean, but the instance that Tensor walked away, Novaray was walking swiftly up to him, Starscream veering away in surprise as the professor snapped, “Who created you? I want you, and I’ll pay whatever they’re asking, I’ve got shanix. You’d be comfortable and happy with me.”

Skyfire’s normally useless wings jammed up so hard that the screech of metallic friction made Starscream flinch, Skyfire demanding, _“What?!”_

“Stay out of this, shuttle,” growled Novaray distractedly, following Starscream who was coyly avoiding him, indecisive thanks to the stupidity of his overjoyed spark whether to be excited or fly off screaming. Worse, everything in his coding told him that Novaray’s aggression was completely normal - and that if another sire-coded mech showed up with a matching spark who _wasn’t_ Novaray’s trinemate, Novaray would chase them off.

Which would thrill Starscream, of course.

“No! He’s my friend and you’re acting like a creeper,” growled Skyfire, wingtips actually shaking. Novaray ignored him - the big oaf wasn’t a threat, and Starscream had just discovered that he could annoy Novaray by stopping, allowing the other seeker to get close, almost near enough to touch - only to scurry off again, delighted.

“Starscream, c’mere you little glitch,” ordered Novaray, ignoring Skyfire. “You’re going to be mine; I don’t think there’s a better carrier-seeker anywhere, I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

Starscream had never seen a sire-seeker as good as Novaray either, but he wasn’t about to let Novaray know that.

“I’m telling you, I have shanix,” said Novaray, halting and striking a pose to highlight his wings. Starscream stopped to admire them, then shrugged and stood beside Skyfire, who gave him a baffled, thoroughly repulsed stare. Novaray followed him, and wisely stopped short of the enraged shuttle, finally asking, “What, shuttle? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Don’t you think this _flirting_ is unprofessional?” rumbled Skyfire.

Novaray smirked, “Who else are you going to learn space flight from, dumbaft? You can’t report me.”

Oooh, Novaray was smart. Starscream liked that, but he having too much fun irritating the foreign mech to tell him this. He cocked his head at Skyfire, who huffed, “Servos off my partner, glitch.”

Which was when Novaray made things awkward. His optics sparked unpleasantly and he smiled wide, “Oh, I get it - you’re impressed by Starscream the same way.”

“Huh?!” squeaked Skyfire, Starscream recoiling a step.

“We’re just friends!” snapped Starscream at Novaray.

“Oooh, finally you talk,” purred Novaray, beautiful plating ruffling. “I _do_ like your voice; like I said, you’re mine, so tell me who your creators are and I’ll pay up.”

Skyfire suddenly took matters (or Starscream,) into his own servos, seizing him off of his pedes, then glaring at Novaray, “Frag off, you’re sick.”

“See you tomorrow,” chirped Novaray, fluttering his wings for Starscream’s benefit so that their tips flashed distractingly and Starscream hastened to stare at them. Skyfire was silent as he hauled Starscream away, and Starscream, who had become somewhat used to Skyfire randomly picking him up over the vorns (the shuttle had weird hang ups sometimes about him doing slag because he was smaller than him,) didn’t fight it. Skyfire ridiculously carried him all the way back to their apartment where he finally let him walk on his own pedes once more, Starscream streaking for the couch, where he took up exactly half a cushion since the thing had been built for mecha Skyfire’s scale instead of his.

“So you were right about seekers treating you like that?” snapped Skyfire, clearly in a foul mood as he dumped a thermal blanket on top of Starscream (because he knew that Starscream usually liked to snuggle after flying a lot,) then rustling about loudly in the cupboard.

“Of course I was,” hummed Starscream, scratching at one of his thruster heels as the need to groom himself overcame him.

“It’s just - I _thought_ you were exaggerating, not that your family was _literally_ going to sell you to some fragger - fragger_s,”_ snapped Skyfire, returning with a bottle of their favourite cheap-as-slag high grade and two glasses. “It’s _sick._ You’re a free mech, not a fragging pleasurebot or slave. We don’t even have slaves anymore, that slag was abolished!”

Starscream watched briefly as Skyfire poured him a glass, then returned to the much more interesting pursuit of inspecting his own thruster. “It’s how sire-coded seekers prove that they can take care of carrier-seekers like me. Except there’s no way Novaray makes enough on a university salary to afford me.”

Skyfire almost spilled high grade all over himself, _“What?!_ Starscream, you told me that_ your_ sire Killjoy was a professor! Isn’t that the same?”

Starscream deigned to ignore his thruster and smirked, “No. Haven’t you seen how my family _bathes_ in shanix?”

Skyfire stared at him, “Good point - how is that if your sire’s a professor?”

Starscream abruptly drank his high grade in one gulp, “They’re… _deeply_ involved in Vos’ government. So, stop worrying about Novaray, Skyfire - fragger doesn’t stand a chance.”

“You were _acting_ like he stands a chance,” said Skyfire shrewdly.

“That’s my fragging coding, it makes me do that when the dumbafts in Vos whom the Winglord is threatening me to trine are around too, except usually I don’t get to be a glitch to them like I was to Novaray because old fraggers are always watching,” said Starscream, picking at his thruster again.

“Starscream,” said Skyfire after a weird silence, “did you just say ‘the Winglord?’”

“I told you, my family’s involved in Vos’ government,” said Starscream, and to his smug relief, the shuttle seemed to take this explanation just as it was.

“Well, there’s no way he’s touching you,” grouched Skyfire.

* * *

This was entirely wrong. Novaray proved it five kliks into Starscream being within range of the main science building, where he had apparently been lurking in wait, ready to pounce. Apparently, (Starscream discovered as he found himself flat on his wings with a large red Praxian seeker on top of him,) practice for future courting was the real purpose of all the stupid pouncing that seekerlings did. In clear view of at least fifty gaping assorted ground frame students, Novaray nuzzled Starscream’s face, purring, “Who’s your family, love? I want you and I’m going to have you.”

Skyfire, who had been lagging behind Starscream, distracted by a datapad, yelped and charged over, grabbing Novaray off of Starscream by his wings, crying in Vosian, “Get off of him! He’s not a fragging turbofox for you to hunt, slagheap!”

“I was just proving to him that I can catch him,” reasoned Novaray calmly, not even bothered by the shuttle holding him several pede-lengths in the air.

“In an ambush, you haven’t _seen_ me fly full out yet,” sneered Starscream, standing and sweeping himself off.

“Not helping, Star!” said Skyfire disgustedly. “Learn to turn your damned trine coding off or something!”

“Can’t,” said Starscream, sauntering past them and putting his servos on his hips, thrusting his nose into the air imperiously. “Let’s fly, fraggers.”

“If that last glyph’s a suggestion for an activity, I’m up for it,” noted Novaray grotesquely.

Skyfire looked like he wanted to punch Novaray, but there were far too many mecha around, most of them staring in shock because of the spectacle they were making. He reluctantly dropped Novaray, who immediately zeroed back in on Starscream, Skyfire realizing his mistake as the Praxian made to reach for Starscream, who instantly decided that he wanted to revisit the annoying-Novaray game again. They launched in an explosive swirl of jet wash, Skyfire yelping an apology to the other occupants of the courtyard as he transformed to chase them. Since Starscream was having too much fun flying the slag out of Novaray, it took over a joor before any of them (minus Skyfire,) were calm enough to actually train. Somehow, they achieved it, exiting than re-entering Cybertron’s atmosphere perfectly multiple times, then trying it with the heavy expedition scientific equipment which the university kept stored for their use at Iacon Spaceport.

“Well done this orn, Starscream,” trilled Novaray as they finished offloading Skyfire. Starscream was still weirded out by how much slag his friend’s hold could be crammed with, and found it bizarre how hollow he was in his alt mode.

“Primus, frag off, we’re done training for the orn now,” cried Skyfire exhaustedly.

“You frag off, shuttle, I’m taking Starscream back to Praxus with me after we’re done,” said Novaray. “Our seekerlings can be the first ones raised in space and we can rise to greatness as the best exobiologists on Cybertron.”

This actually sounded like a fairly acceptable future to Starscream, but Skyfire lost it, “That is _not_ happening! We’ll see you tomorrow but Star and I are going home now! Ugh!”

“I look forwards to it,” sang Novaray, and Starscream didn’t doubt that he did. The next orn was the same nonsense, then on the third they flew to Luna II and back, their training seeming to get serious. Starscream was so happy that he forgot to pretend that he disliked Novaray, and he was a little bewildered as the other seeker pinned him against a wall the instance that Skyfire left to grab an energon cube from the dispenser in the hangar. Novaray leaned in, his field excited, Starscream’s spark whirling in frightened joy and Novaray seemed about to kiss Starscream when someone significantly more intimidating than Skyfire pressed the warm barrel of a null ray to the side of Novaray’s helm.

“Hello, there,” said Slater coldly. “Back away from my charge, please.”

_“Your_ charge?” demanded Novaray, but his wingtips were visibly shaking, which made Starscream wonder curiously whether he recognized Slater.

“Yes, mine,” growled Slater, stepping between them.

“You - you don’t feel like his creator -” spluttered Novaray.

“I’m a significant stand in,” said Slater. “You’re touching goods which you haven’t been given permission to handle, Professor Novaray.”

“Y-you know my designation?” yelped Novaray, his fear amusing Starscream tremendously.

“Of course I do,” said Slater, withdrawing a familiar bottle and cloth from his subspace, “and you should know _who_ and _what_ you are dealing with.” He clicked at Starscream and Starscream went to him, eager for Novaray to see this too, to realize why he was unobtainable. Slater firmly wiped the paint from his wing and Novaray’s own wings trembled in shock, Slater smirking, “I’m afraid that you’ll need the permission of Winglord Mercury to trine His Royal Highness, Professor, and I can’t say she will be excited about the idea of a poor foreigner trining her best nephew.”

Novaray looked pale. “I-I will remember that, s-sir.”

“Good,” said Slater, looking back at Starscream’s wings and frowning. “My prince, since when do you have guns?”

“A while ago,” noted Starscream, relishing Novaray’s sudden fear.

“Hmm. Well, you can keep them for now, I suppose,” shrugged Slater, perking his wings as Skyfire returned at a run, the shuttle looking very hopeful at the sight of him.

“Slate, thank Primus -” sputtered Skyfire gladly.

“Professor Novaray won’t be bothering Starscream anymore, Skyfire,” claimed Slater, gently grabbing Starscream’s freshly exposed wing and wiping its brand drier. “He’s been made to realize that he can’t possibly afford Starscream’s company - isn’t that right, Professor Novaray?”

“Perhaps,” said Novaray.

“No,” said Slater, turning sharply back to the Praxian seeker. “Not at all. This seeker was born for greatness far beyond you. You will train him as he needs and no more, and if I hear that you have spoken even remotely about meeting Starscream to anyone outside of us three, I will see that you _suffer._ Now, Starscream, Skyfire, let’s go. No, come on, Star, I know he’s pretty but you can’t have him.”

Starscream growled and followed Slater, his reluctance fading as he got further away from Novaray’s electromagnetic field. Free from it, he surged at Slater, who hugged him, venting, “You’re welcome, Star, I came as fast as I could.”

“I’m glad you showed up too, that mech was slagging relentless,” grumbled Skyfire. “I don’t think he ever stopped flirting with Star from the first klik that he saw him.”

“I don’t doubt that that’s true; now take me to your new apartment, I need to update its security,” growled Slater, slinking an arm around Starscream’s waist and kissing his cheek. “Starscream, you did _not_ inform me that you had moved and I am _not_ pleased.”

“I moved the security over,” protested Starscream as Skyfire stared.

“That does not matter, I should have been informed,” snapped Slater. “There were a few orns where I did not know where you were, recently, Starscream, and you know very well that that is unacceptable. Do _not_ do that again, you are slipping my surveillance far too often. If you go somewhere else, I _must_ be informed about it in advance so that I can adjust your security accordingly.” 

“Um, I know that it isn’t always the best here for flight frames, Slate, but the university’s safe,” said Skyfire quizzically. “Why do you need to watch Star so much? He’s a grown mech; isn’t that an invasion of his privacy?”

“Starscream has no privacy, Skyfire,” snapped Slater. Before Skyfire could ask what this met, he snapped, “Starscream, you did not tell him?”

“Tell me about what?” asked Skyfire suspiciously as Starscream canted negative.

“Hmm, you’re right, probably better not,” decided Slater rapidly. “Let’s fly, mecha.” He took off and his service trine ripped up from behind the storage hangar to join them, Skyfire yelping in surprise even as Starscream calmly transformed then flipped upside down to avoid exposing his wing brand to onlookers on the ground.

::Star, why are you flying like that?!:: yelped Skyfire.

::It’s fun,:: lied Starscream as Slater pinged him on a closed frequency, wanting details about Novaray. Starscream reluctantly gave them, and the address to the staff dorm apartment and he watched as Slater jitter in the air at hearing that he was rooming with Skyfire.

::I do not need to tell you that that is_ inappropriate!::_ hissed Slater.

Starscream refrained from giving him more details on spaceflight. The less the general knew, the better, probably. Meanwhile, Skyfire was having a conniption on the main frequency, upset that Slater was essentially stalking Starscream, who carefully downplayed it so that Skyfire knew as little as possible. At the same time, Slater was demanding his new schedule and overall, by the time Starscream reached the staff dorm, with an entire orn of tough new flying behind him, all he wanted to do was curl up for a recharge.

“Slate, what is _with_ Starscream’s wings?” demanded Skyfire as Starscream attempted to make for his room, but he barely got a step before Slater snatched him by the wing and steered him to the couch instead.

“Sir, this place is grievously unprotected and there isn’t a balcony,” hissed Slater’s mech service trinemate in Kaonian.

“We will deal with it,” promised Slater distastefully in the same language. “While the shuttle and the prince are away at training tomorrow.”

“I can understand you,” huffed Starscream, attempting to curl himself into the furthest corner of the couch and growling as Slater sat beside him, taking his wing again.

“We know, Starscream, but the shuttle does not, and that gives us some privacy,” smirked Slater.

“Hey, that’s not Vosian - are you going to answer me?! Star!” complained Skyfire.

“I’m tired,” snapped Starscream in Vosian. “Everyone stop asking me questions!”

“I will ask you what questions I like, Starscream,” said Slater in Kaonian.

“Seriously? Stop ignoring me!” cried Skyfire.

“Skyfire, it’s just a brand, I told you before, it’s for flying in Vos,” said Starscream.

“But it meant something to Novaray,” scowled Skyfire.

“It means, shuttle, ‘this seeker is worth far too much shanix for your measly university wage,’” said Slater, finishing cleaning Starscream’s wing of paint and subspacing the bottle. “And you had best remember that, Skyfire, because Starscream’s sire Killjoy is coming to visit in two orns.”

All of Skyfire’s righteous indication vanished. “Killjoy? Professor Killjoy?”

“Yes, him,” said Slater, curling up his lip as Starscream sat up rigidly.

_ “Why_ is my sire coming here?” demanded Starscream, his spark pulsing hard.

“He is assessing whether or not he wants to allow you to continue here,” said Slater. “So, I suggest that you be in good polish, Starscream -” he switched to Kaonian, “- and downplay your weird relationship with the shuttle.”

“Why wouldn’t he allow Starscream to continue?” demanded Skyfire.

“Skyfire, I’ve told you,” protested Starscream. “There’s certain things expected of me, and -”

“They’re stupid things,” stated Skyfire. “You don’t want to trine, and you don’t want sparklings.”

“Primus, the shuttle is annoying, eh?” said Slater’s femme service trinemate in Kaonian.

Slater snorted, “I know that, Skyfire, why else do you think that I’ve let Starscream stay here this long when it isn’t safe? It’s only because of me and my sweet talking that he was allowed to stay even a few orns, let alone vorns. But, Star’s time here is coming to an end, that’s just the way that it is - soon the Winglord will hear about something stupid which that slagheap Sentinel is up to and she will demand that Starscream returns home permanently - if Killjoy doesn’t demand it first.”

“That’s not fair,” said Skyfire.

“The world isn’t fair, shuttle,” said Slater. “The world is dangerous and unkind, especially to flight frames - especially to _seekers._ I’m simply a mech who daring to wager on a different race contestant for our survival than the conventional. Now, it’s been a long orn for you hasn’t it? Why don’t you relax? We’re just going to take some measurements of the apartment, then we will leave you in peace for the night.”

“What do you mean about wagers?” frowned Skyfire.

“A mech in power must throw his support one way or another,” said Slater. He touched Starscream’s cheek, declaring in Kaonian, “and should Courageflight somehow fall in the strife ahead, I want the winglord who succeeds him to be of a more cunning mien. Courageflight is a prince of peace; you, Starscream, are a prince of war. Remember that.”

“What did he say?” wondered Skyfire as Slater walked away to help his service trine.

Starscream negated harshly with his wings, lying, “I didn’t catch it.”


	36. Less Than a Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Starscream involuntarily falls in love and his seekers face a dreaded enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and ye shall receive. :) This isn't my favourite chapter, but sometimes you just have to throw in the towel and just let things be.

Starscream drifted back online so slowly that he was taken by surprise when he suddenly found himself aware, and he panicked for a klik when he found himself too weak to move until comforting arms wrapped around him. The briefly formed idea that he was being tortured disappeared and he tried to respond to his trinemate, but his pathetic frame didn’t want to do anything more than twitch pathetically in approximations of once powerful movements. He managed a soft squeak as Thundercracker pulled him into his lap then rewrapped his blanket around him, taking care not to interfere with the intraline tube attached to Starscream’s arm, and feeling his trinemate’s spark so close to his, the brush of his warm vents, Starscream decided that he was safe. He fell into recharge weakly gripping a transformation seam in his trinemate’s chest with shaking claws.

When he onlined again, it was because there was talking, and he was still in Thundercracker’s lap but his blanket was gone. He tried to think of why he had bothered waking up, because Thundercracker’s lap was so comfortable and Starscream felt like slag; it took him a humiliatingly long klik to notice that the Autobot medic Ratchet was scanning him.

“He’s beginning to look a little better, his colour is returning,” said the Autobot with relief as Starscream blinked at him. The medic reached for him with a rounded device in his hand and Starscream managed to recoil slightly in response, Ratchet snorting, “His energy is definitely coming back. Stop that, you, I need to get more detailed information on your passengers to make sure that they’re developing okay.”

Starscream hissed weakly, not wanting to see proof that his frame parasites really existed, but Thundercracker’s servo gently covered his mouth and an excited Skywarp stroked his wings. At Ratchet’s request Skywarp held Starscream’s servos out of the way and Ratchet pressed the device against Starscream’s aching gestation tank. He twitched, trying to claw the medic so that he would slag off, but he lacked the strength to fight his trinemates and Ratchet kept running the device all over his lower abdomen, murmuring, “Shh, Starscream, you’re alright.”

“He doesn’t let us touch him there,” noted Skywarp.

“It’s normal for carriers to be protective of their newsparks,” said Ratchet, at last pulling the device away, then tilting his arm so that they could see what was on the diagnostic screen. Starscream’s mates perked up but Starscream just frowned as he saw the three, somewhat indistinct little blobs. They had vague little helms, vague little limbs (including, thankfully, wing nubs,) and they were curled together, their sparks showing through their tiny frames as bright points of light which obscured their chests. He should have been repelled by the sight - he had seen imagery of fetal newsparks before, so it was not something to get excited about - yet he was fixated instead. He had been calling them parasites and scraplets, but they looked _Seeker_ and they were _his_ and -

“Star, it’s okay,” giggled Skywarp and Starscream realized that he had been whining. He hissed when Ratchet took the view of his offspring away.

“I’ll scan you again in a few orns, Starscream,” promised Ratchet. “Your little ones are in good shape, by the way, they look very strong, unlike you. Seeker carrier-code must be very potent, and very in favour of the newsparks.”

“Star loves our newsparks,” grinned Skywarp. “He purrs to them all the time.”

“No… parasites…” Starscream hopelessly attempted to deny, because Skywarp was speaking complete scrap.

“Uh huh,” snorted Ratchet, “and I’m a magical fairy. Get some rest and cuddle with your trine you ninny.” He pointed at Starscream’s spark monitor, where there were _four_ spark readouts, three faint, “Stare at that if you want evidence of your bitlets. I’m going to go check on Dogfight.”

The medic strode off down the passageway and Starscream was spared having to see the looks on his mates’ faces by his inability to move his helm. He adamantly pretended that he wasn’t looking at the spark readout by only peering at it out of the corner of his right optic, which worked quite well until he realized that his slagheap trinemates were both onto him, Skywarp giving it away with a giggle.

“Starrr, it’s okay, you can admit that you love them,” grinned Skywarp.

Starscream wanted to glare at him, but he also wanted to keep looking at the readout, and his face felt too tired. _Scraplets are horrible. I don’t like them at all. It’s their fault I got sick like this and we had to go to the damned Autobot medic for help._

“Liar, liar, wings on fire,” sing-songed Skywarp. “They’re innocent of all charges, right, TC?”

Starscream knew that Thundercracker was smiling, and it annoyed him, especially as the glitch chuckled, “Star, they don’t have functional processors yet, they’re not capable of siding against you.”

_ Little parasites are stealing from me,_ _you heard what the Autoglitch said,_ hissed Starscream, yet he couldn’t find any spite to fill his glyphs, despite his offspring depleting him, literally consuming his frame from the inside. They were like weird, selective and very tiny black holes.

“They’re not stealing, you’re giving to them,” said Thundercracker, kissing the top of his helm. Starscream refused to think Thundercracker’s perspective was in any way apt. Skywarp kept laughing joyfully to himself, and without taking his gaze off of the spark readout Starscream considered how dearly better things were with all of them together. 

* * *

“Hello, _Winglord_ Starscream.”

It was the Primus-damned Autobot again; Starscream sluggishly onlined his optics and considered disturbingly that for the first time in at least a decaorn, neither of his mates were with him. Thrust was watching though, his optics gleaming in the poor lighting of their base’s interior, which illuminated Ratchet making adjustments to the monitoring equipment attached to Starscream. Starscream tried to decide whether the inflection the medic had applied to ‘winglord’ was mocking or not.

“How are you feeling?” asked Ratchet.

Starscream eyed him, then shifted his gaze back to the spark monitor, before slowly taking note that he could move his helm again. His frame was also feeling substantially improved, although his intake and fuel tank still felt like chopped up scrap - not to mention his bloated gestation tank. How did three little blobs manage to make his abdomen feel so ridiculously distended? Ratchet turned to face him full on and Starscream suddenly considered that the infamously grouchy medic actually seemed pleased with him. He considered again how he felt, deciding aloud, “Slag.”

Ratchet snorted. “I don’t doubt it. Your fuel tank and intake were worse than I initially thought. Tell me, Starscream: what possessed you to literally eat mud?”

“Coding,” grumbled Starscream. “There was something in it that I needed.”

“Well, whatever it was, I am not confident that you got it,” said Ratchet, adjusting something on the monitor and jotting down a few more notes. “Your line energon is exceptionally poor, which is another reason why you feel weak, apart from the newsparks stealing your internal resources. Considering that your frame seems to be slowly compromising itself in order to develop them, I can’t believe I ever worried about _them_ suffering.”

“At least they’re puny,” grumbled Starscream, laying his helm back down, too tired to hold it up. “Insulting to be taken down by three blobs who would fit inside my cupped servo.”

Ratchet made an amused sound, “Noble, more like, Starscream, your frame is sacrificing parts of itself to the next generation, whom we need badly.”

“Is that why you fraggers had me sparked?” demanded Starscream, lifting his head to glare at Ratchet, and questioning himself why he was even talking to the Autoglitch.

“That’s why _I_ joined on and supported it,” said Ratchet, still writing things. “You’re a scientist, Starscream; you know Cybertron’s mecha are in jeopardy.”

“You ‘joined on’… who came up with the dumbaft idea?” growled Starscream, needing to know who it was that he needed to murder. He heard thrusters echoing from outside, and felt his trine coming closer - they had gone for a fly. _Excitement/relief_ radiated earnestly through the bond at him being online again.

“Skyfire,” said Ratchet.

_Skyfire._ Betrayal shifted through Starscream, causing his trine to hasten closer, but he ignored them, watching the medic, hissing, “I’m going to kill him -”

“I doubt that,” snorted Ratchet. It infuriated Starscream how easily the stupid grounder dismissed him. “Besides, he was abducted by the Decepticons in one of our last battles.”

Starscream’s insides went icy - Skyfire was _alone_ with _Megatron?!_ \- and Ratchet mildly observed, “Watch it, Starscream, your spark readout almost implies that you care.”

Before Starscream could splutter how full of slag Ratchet was, air displaced beside him and the medic nearly dropped his datapad in surprise as Skywarp, growled, “Of course Starscream cares!”

_ Warp, I do not!_ shot Starscream, even though his glitches knew that he was lying.

“Skyfire was Star’s scientific partner,” snapped Skywarp, crouching over Starscream defensively. “He was really sad when you found him in the ice and he thought that Skyfire was dead!”

“Skywarp, I was _not!_” squawked Starscream, desperate to deny any implication that he might have anything besides a stone cold killer lurking in his spark. Thundercracker settled by his pedes and proceeded to humiliate him by snaring one out from under Starscream’s thermal blanket, then starting to pick at it soothingly with his claws.

To his disgust, Ratchet just glanced at the spark readout again, “Mm-hmm. Very convincing,_ Winglord.”_

“Stop saying ‘Winglord’ in that tone!” snarled Starscream, refusing to be calmed by Thundercracker’s attentions to his pede, no matter how gloriously wonderful it felt.

“Forgive me if I have trouble seeing you as a world leader, Starscream,” snorted Ratchet.

“Insolent glitch!” hissed Starscream. “I’ve been Winglord since before the war!”

“And I won’t treat you if you threaten me,” said Ratchet. “I’m here of my own free will, because I care about Cybertronian mecha surviving into the future. If you attack me, or have your seekers do it for you or your trine, then you will have proven that your new faction is no different from your old one.”

“Don’t act all high and mighty with _me,_ Autobot! Your Autobots have committed just as many atrocities as the Decepticons - don’t you _dare_ even pretend to be innocent!” growled Starscream.

“Funny, how much you sound like Skyfire,” ex-vented Ratchet, knocking Starscream off kilter. “He said much the same thing, and he was right. I will stand by what I told him - that I just want us to evade extinction, and I will elaborate that I am very tired of this war, Starscream, tired just as you are.”

“You have no idea how I feel,” hissed Starscream resentfully.

“Shh, Star, I think that was a metaphor!” whispered Skywarp, Thundercracker groaning.

“As your medic, I _do_ know how you feel,” snorted Ratchet, pointing to a section of the monitor screen, “pain readout.”

Starscream rolled his optics, “I just want to go back to Vos.”

Ratchet nodded, “And raise your sparklings in peace, I know. Your trine has already told me.”

Traitors. Starscream would have glared at him if he was capable of lifting his helm that far, but he couldn’t.

Ratchet tutted at his notes, “Unfortunately, Starscream, on the subject of Skyfire, Prowl and Ironhide managed to win the argument _against_ rescuing him - because he’s neutral, combined with the difficulty involved in such an undertaking.”

“Megatron’s probably holding him as bait for Starscream,” said Thundercracker, wondrous digits dipping into Starscream’s thruster.

“Maybe,” said Ratchet, “if he knows who the shuttle is. Are you going to do something about it?”

“No,” said Thundercracker before Starscream could even begin to properly think it over. “The shuttle’s on his own - we can’t risk an assault on the _Nemesis,_ we already agreed that attacking it would bear an unacceptable number of casualties. The shuttle has to escape by himself. Starscream and I are in accord; we must minimize our losses, since one of our faction’s goals is the continuation of our species. We fly for the resurrection of Vos.”

“Not that Star’s doing any flying for a while,” grinned Skywarp.

“Oh, shut up, my thrusters still work,” grumped Starscream.

“Ratchet, why did Skyfire want Starscream sparked?” asked Thundercracker.

“He wanted Starscream to change things, and he thought that he would because he claimed that Seeker creator code was strong,” said Ratchet. The medic glanced around at their very-non-Decepticon surroundings, “I think his plan’s been a success so far, don’t you?”

* * *

Their seekers had greeted their Autobot brethren with mistrust and several hundred thousand centravorns’ worth of spite, until Thundercracker had made it crystal clear that they were to accept them. To preserve their species, they would need all seekers to fly together, and since Starscream had been incapacitated, Thundercracker had told everyone that they were to accept any flight frame defecting within reason. Also, no touching the grounder medic. Thankfully, Acid Storm had agreed with him, backing up Thundercracker’s statement that they needed numbers, and Dogfight’s trinemates promised to control him once he woke back up from his wing reattachment surgery.

“Because they did _so_ well at that last time,” growled Dirge upon hearing this.

“Last time the fragger could fly,” said Thundercracker, “and if he does attack Starscream again, I’ll have Skywarp rip off his _other_ wing.”

This placated his mecha - they had a great appreciation for secret threats of violence.

“Thundercracker -” spoke up Slipstream, catching Thundercracker in the corridor on his way back to check on Starscream. Several seekers hissed at her, and she snapped, “Oh grow up! I’m nobility, that means I don’t have to use the honorific!”

“Yeah you do,” growled Crossfire, “’cus you’re _lesser_ nobility, Slipstream.”

“Frag off, apart from them I’m the only nobility we have!” snapped Slipstream. She turned back to Thundercracker, who was glaring at her, and groaned, “Fine! _Lord_ Thundercracker, I have been feeling that Hotlink’s trine’s talents are better suited elsewhere than the Royal Guard. Hotlink as an engineer’s time would be better spent maintaining our weapons systems and Bitstream is basically our spymaster, plus Sunstorm… is Sunstorm. I wanted to propose that my trine join what was traditionally the family business - I want to take Hotlink’s trine’s place on the Royal Guard.”

Thundercracker didn’t have to think about it. “No.”

“What? Why not -” hissed Slipstream, peculiarly shocked.

“Because you’ve challenged the Winglord multiple times and we’re not letting you anywhere near him while he’s vulnerable,” growled Crossfire before Thundercracker could. “You’ve stated many times that you want to usurp him, and there’s no better time than now for you to accomplish that.”

“Slipstream, if you want to prove yourself trustworthy, you can go help Hotlink with the turret,” sighed Thundercracker. “I appreciate that you would want to be part of the Royal Guard, but that requires a level of trust which I don’t have for you yet. I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving my recharging mates in your presence if I had to leave to go somewhere.”

She stared at him for a klik, then she saluted with her wings and averted her eyes, “Very well, Lord Thundercracker - I will go join Hotlink.”

Thundercracker watched her stride off, and felt Crossfire and his trine settle closer to him, Crossfire hissing, “We really don’t trust her, sir.”

“It’s wise not to,” agreed Thundercracker. He smiled at the trine that he was becoming particularly fond of flying with, “We’ll go out hunting again soon, once His Majesty is stronger.”

Their wings perked, Crossfire’s carrier-mate Lightbolt purring, “We look forwards to it, sir.”

“Good,” said Thundercracker. “Rest now. I’m off to check on His Majesty.”

Starscream was typically a mess, but he was getting better, Thundercracker was pleased to note - his carrier-mate still could not process any fuel by mouth, and was living on the heavily supplemented medicated energon which Ratchet had on a drip connected to the Winglord’s arm. Thundercracker had been repulsed when Ratchet had exhumed the grotesque contents of his mate’s fuel tank - somehow, he hadn’t thought that Starscream had managed to eat that much random slag. His mate’s fuel tank had been flushed, and according to the scope which Ratchet put down his mate’s throat every orn, it was starting to recover, his healing tediously slow because of the newsparks.

Ratchet had theorized that Starscream’s carrier protocols basically didn’t give a damn about Carrier, so everything Starscream had was going to his gestation tank. Ratchet found this worrisome, because Thundercracker’s litter’s dependency on Starscream’s frame was not going to end with their birth - Starscream would be fuelling them for up to three vorns. The carrier’s gestation was proving to be far more complicated and problematic than the medic had foreseen.

“This is why carrier-seekers had special energon back in Vos,” the medic had grumbled. “It was to keep them from literally taking apart their own frames for their newsparks. I’ve never seen such aggressive creation protocols.”

_ Carrier-seekers have a population index to fill,_ Thundercracker remembered Starscream ranting once, when their trine had been new, _but the index has been filled, so you can forget about newsparks!_

His mate’s glyphs took on disturbing new meaning now. He strode into the bright room near the entrance where Ramjet kept watch over his trinemates and sighed at the sight of them, curled up tightly together, Starscream hardly visible under Skywarp. The intraline tube carrying Starscream’s energon to him was a clear strip of bright pink in the comfortable gloom and Thundercracker bent to make certain that it wasn’t kinked anywhere. Skywarp purred sleepily at him being close and Thundercracker rewarded him with a pet, then inched his servo between them, hoping to touch the swell of Starscream’s gestation tank. Sharp claws immediately pressed against his hand, Starscream onlining one optic to watch him in lazy warning.

“You know, for a carrier who has been known to call our litter ‘scraplets’ you’re very protective of them, Starscream,” teased Thundercracker, twisting his servo to caress his mate’s digits, the claws retracting.

“Frag off, TC,” murmured Starscream, shuttering his optic again, his side of the bond heavy and comfortable. Keeping gentle possession of Starscream’s servo, he settled against him, contentedly listening to the peaceful hum of the trinebond. He almost began to drift into a resting state himself, but instinct kept him from giving in, and Thundercracker looked back over his shoulder as he heard approaching pedes. Fastcut and Greenflit stopped, looking uncomfortable as they saw what was happening, so Thundercracker reluctantly sat up, Skywarp stirring but not moving, just watching sleepily.

“I’m sorry - this is obviously a bad time,” said Greenflit awkward. “We were hoping to make a formal apology for Dogfight’s actions to the Winglord.”

Thundercracker felt Starscream sluggishly come back online at the unfamiliar voice so close by and he sighed, “There is no good time right now. His Majesty is online, however.”

Starscream whimpered softly, and groaned as Thundercracker carefully stole him into his lap, figuring that his carrier-mate would feel a bit better facing former Autobots if he was at least upright instead of horizontal. Barely possessing the strength to sit up on his own, Starscream settled limply against him, a surge of brief anger flushing through Thundercracker as he considered the fact that his mate wouldn’t be in this position if their circumstances were better. The carrier nuzzled at him weakly, briefly wondered where Skywarp was until Skywarp silently reassured him that he was still close, then finally noticed the two strange seekers. He frowned, managing, “Th’frag are you doing here.”

Ramjet snickered.

“Winglord Starscream - Your Majesty,” said Greenflit, dropping to her knees, Fastcut hastily copying her, “My designation is Greenflit and this is Fastcut; your mate Lord Thundercracker graciously accepted us back into the fold of Vos.”

Starscream managed a faint grimace and the most diluted side glare that Thundercracker had ever witnessed from him.

“We are here, because we wanted to apologize for our mate Dogfight’s attack on you,” said Greenflit boldly. “We are deeply grateful to be here, home again with our own kind, away from Functionist individuals within the Autobot fold. We are committed to the protection and furthering of our kind, and the resurrection of Vos. We believe fully in the justness of your new mission and we are honoured to serve you as our sacred Winglord.”

Thundercracker did not think that Starscream currently even had a mission, apart from surviving the ordeal which his carrying was turning out to be, but he could tell that Starscream appreciated what Greenflit was saying, although resentment also bubbled within the carrier. Where had their loyalty to he their winglord been previously?

“What happens… when Dogfight onlines?” asked Starscream, his voice as weak as his frame.

“We will make him understand - we and Sleet’s trine as well,” said Greenflit. “Sleet was concerned about stressing you when Ratchet told us that you were unwell, so he wanted to wait until your health had improved before approaching you.” Greenflit bowed her helm, “I formally pledge my spark to Vos, and my allegiance to your cause.” Fastcut echoed her words.

Starscream was quiet in contemplation for a klik, his usually swift processor running a jot slow thanks to his medication. He blinked slowly, ex-venting, “I accept your allegiance and I will expect Dogfight’s.”

“You will have it,” promised Fastcut, “and Sleet’s trine’s. We are eager to help in any way that we can, and we look forwards to the orn when we can all return home to Vos to rebuild.”

Starscream managed a faint sound of acknowledgement before drowsily ordering, “Remove those repulsive Autobot markings from your frames.”

“We will, Winglord,” promised Fastcut.

“Dismissed,” mumbled Starscream, wanting to stop thinking about them.

“We hope you feel better soon, Winglord,” said Greenflit earnestly. The pair left, seeming satisfied, and Starscream almost immediately fell asleep again. Thundercracker rested his chin on his helm, a terrible, worried part of his spark wondering whether his carrier-mate ever would ever get better, if their newsparks were going to kill him. If Starscream’s attempts to supplement himself had failed so badly, then how could they possibly get him into a state where their litter was no longer draining him, where Starscream would be himself again? It made Thundercracker nervous seeing him so drained, remembering all the times when he had bounced back from even grievous injuries like they were nothing. Starscream was supposed to be indomitable, unbreakable - he was not supposed to be suffering his literal lifelong nightmare (and what a nightmare it was turning out to be.)

“We gotta figure something out, Warp,” sighed Thundercracker, but he had no idea what or how, and he felt entirely useless.

* * *

“Ratchet,” called Thundercracker, stepping into the alcove where the former Autobot seekers rested around the still stasis-locked Dogfight. The medic was tending the seeker, applying more repair nanites to the delicate and still very raw welds connecting Dogfight’s previously grotesquely amputated wing to his frame. The reattached limb was still quite grey compared to the rest of Dogfight, but it was gaining colour back every time that Thundercracker happened to come look, and Ratchet had expressed satisfied pride over his work, the grounder expressing his belief that Dogfight would eventually make a full recovery. Thundercracker was not so sure, especially given that Ratchet was a grounder, but for Dogfight’s trine’s sake he was willing to hope that the Autobot medic was correct. (Dogfight himself was still a slagheap until proven otherwise.)

“What is it, Lord Thundercracker?” asked Ratchet, who had finally dropped the mocking tone on ‘lord.’ (He had likely gotten tired of being hissed at for it.)

“The orn I found you; was there an intentional ambush?” asked Thundercracker. It had been bothering him, especially because he knew that Starscream would have thought to ask (actually shriek a demand,) right away.

Ratchet kept smoothing nanite gel onto Dogfight’s wing; Thundercracker wondered why he bothered, when Dogfight’s trine could have just as easily done it. Even so, the grounder seemed more at ease with the former Autobot seekers than the former Decepticon ones. Ratchet paused in his work, professing, “There was an ambush, but it wasn’t set specifically for you or your seekers. I had been getting a few mecha with helm injuries and emptied subspaces lately in my medbay - not many, but it was noticeable, especially after battles, so we were out to investigate to see if we could find the perpetrator. Why were you there?”

Thundercracker decided to be honest, “To get energon for Starscream.”

Ratchet froze; the former Autobot seekers present cocked their helms.

“We vastly prefer Decepticon targets,” elaborated Thundercracker, “but if a mech is alone, and not paying attention to what is behind him…” he let it hang.

“Hm,” said Ratchet, resuming his application of nanite gel. “Well, _that_ answers the question of how you have been feeding him.”

“Better a few easily fixed dents in others than what Skywarp and I were doing before when all we had was petroleum,” noted Thundercracker darkly.

Ratchet frowned, “What exactly were you doing before?”

“What we had to,” said Thundercracker. Ratchet seemed about to demand elaboration when from outside in the distance there came the sound of something blowing up. Thundercracker ran for the base’s main entrance, past his trine, and managed to catch the last glint of a detonation in the distance just as another one went off.

“What is it?” called Starscream weakly from his nest. “Thundercracker?”

“Something’s triggered some land mines, sir,” said Horizon uneasily in a low voice to Thundercracker, who was squinting into the darkness. Another explosion and Acid Storm was by Thundercracker’s side just as there was a pained Cybertronian yell, a curse in Kaonian. Muted arguing, swearing, Thundercracker’s spark constricting even as Starscream’s frail voice shrilled, “That’s a fragging Decepticon! Do something!”

And Thundercracker decided, “Unless they’re Seeker, kill them.”

“Hotlink, Bitstream, to the turret - Sunstorm, with me - Crosswind, Dirge, Nacelle, Horizon, stay with the Royal Trine and the base - everyone else, ATTACK!” roared Acid Storm, igniting his thrusters then blasting off, Thundercracker right behind him before he could think about it. They transformed together, Acid Storm shouting, ::Spark sigmas! Megatron never let us cause as much havoc as we could have - hold nothing back! Lord Thundercracker, you first!::

::It’s the Predacons!:: realized Trickshot as Thundercracker onlined his spark gift and tore faster towards their enemies.

_ Love, I told you so,_ said Thundercracker, feeding Trickshot’s information back to Starscream, then snapping, ::We have to keep them from forming Predaking! Focus on Razorclaw - he’s the leader - and Divebomb, because he’s the only one of them who can fly.::

::RIP THEM APART!:: shrieked Starscream, somehow sounding just as fierce as he ever had over comm as he no longer could using his vocalizer.

::You heard His Majesty!:: cried Acid Storm as Thundercracker dove low over the Predacons and released his spark gift, _**KRAKABOOM!** _shaking out, causing their enemy to stagger, shrieking about seekers. Thundercracker struck for altitude as Acid Storm and his trine began their own attack run, the Predacons shooting back to no avail as the Rainmakers sliced overhead. Panicked screams followed the Rainmakers as the Predacons felt the agonizing lick of the trine’s shared sigma and Thundercracker saw Divebomb try to clumsily alight into the air, only to be shot to pieces by Slipstream’s trine. Thundercracker dived again, triggered his spark gift on top of the remaining Predacons and watched Rampage stumble straight into another land mine. Tantrum, already missing a leg, vainly tried to shoot at Acid Storm then shrieked as the Rainmaker’s spark gift hit him again, his plating visibly melting on contact with the sigma.

Banking, Thundercracker saw Sunstorm land next to Headstrong, who immediately made the profound mistake of trying to grab the yellow seeker just as he burst into flames. Sunstorm shot him in the face then took off, leaving just Razorclaw still standing; the mech transformed into his quadruped alt mode, attempting to run, only to have a delighted Sunstorm land on top of him, knocking him flat then burning him. Sunstorm flew away again, Razorclaw leaping back up with a pained yell, and was swept off of his pedes once more as Slipstream’s trine fired upon him.

::I can’t believe we were ever concerned about these slagheaps,:: huffed Slipstream as they swept back towards base, the Predacons in smoking ruin.

::They are effective as Predaking,:: said Starscream almost defensively.

::Yeah, well, Predaking’s no more, and they’re a scrap pile now,:: said Slipstream as Thundercracker landed, wings and plating flared as he stalked inside. The sight of Starscream untouched in his nest with Skywarp calmed the stewing fury in his spark, letting his plating relax and he climbed into the nest to inspect Starscream, somehow _needing_ to touch him, needing to feel with his servos that his carrier-mate was still fine. Starscream squeaked at him indignantly, weakly trying to scratch him, but Thundercracker caressed the bulge in his abdomen anyway, and endured Starscream attempting to bite him. Touching his mate’s middle seemed to at last satisfy his triggered coding, and Starscream finally stopped trying to attack him as he caught the weakened seeker in a tender embrace, Starscream spitting at their returning mecha, “You idiots - what if there’re more? Search!”

“Love,” ex-vented Thundercracker, nestling Starscream down back in the nest, Starscream glaring back at him weakly.

“What if Megatron knows where we are now?” hissed Starscream. “You don’t know if one of those slagheaps transmitted our position or not!”

“Acid Storm is sweeping the area, Star,” said Thundercracker, doing his best to project calm across the bond, needing Starscream to calm down, his spark rate all over the place on the monitor, Starscream’s side of the bond radiant with coded _fear_. Skywarp hastily hugged the fretting carrier, trying to soothe him too and Thundercracker tried to only think of contented things, of warmth, safety, trying to convince Starscream to settle but it was only with Ratchet’s help that the gravid carrier did. Sedative swept Starscream into recharge but his rest was uneasy, and with the carrier at least in recharge, they wondered: _what if Megatron did know?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm genuinely dearly sorry that this took so long for me to post; I am going to be candid here now and tell you that I am battling mental illness (which I am getting professional treatment for including medication, but that doesn't necessarily make things any less hard. Yet.) I got so freaked out by sharing this fic with you all that I almost deleted it as well as Souvenirs, but a kind comment turned that around. This is a really good example of what an effect a comment can have - so thank you so much for commenting. It reassured my panicky, anxiety-prone silly brain and gave me the courage to keep posting, which I am going to try to keep up because I do not wish to give in to my fear. I'm trying to become a stronger, braver person so that I can become successful, but it's still an uphill fight.
> 
> Once again - thank you. You guys are awesome, and I appreciate you reading my stuff.


	37. A Bowlful of Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favourite chapters! I really hope that you enjoy it!

Had Starscream been common, he would have responded to the truly unwanted coming of his sire by cleaning his apartment, making it perfectly pristine - but he was a Primus-damned prince, so Slater’s service trine did that, Skyfire shocked to find their apartment absolutely spotless when they came home from training (with a very polite, very carefully not-flirting Novaray.)

“W-what happened here?!” sputtered Skyfire. All of his image captures of his family had been unceremoniously placed on his berth, while for no apparent reason, their collection of cheap, dorky science posters had been neatly framed like expensive art, as if Slater’s service trine were pretending that Starscream had good taste or something. (Or making Skyfire look as painfully nerdy as possible so that Killjoy wouldn’t consider him a threat.)

“Stuff,” said Slater proudly, which meant to Starscream that the windows were now ballistic missile proof, the walls had been armoured, his door was probably keyed to only let him in (it would probably set off an alarm in Vos if Skyfire entered,) the front door was probably now an impenetrable barrier, there was likely a hidden escape route, and that whoever lived next door had not gotten any rest if it had been their day off.

“Um, okay,” said Skyfire weakly, wandering over to his room, probably to check that everything was okay. Slater watched him for a klik, then clicked at Starscream.

“You need to be in better polish; come with me - Skyfire, stay put, Star and I are having_ bonding_ time at the spa,” declared Slater.

“What?!” yelped Skyfire, peering out his door, but Starscream was already gone, practically running after Slater at the mention of proper pampering. ‘Bonding time’ in Slater-speak consisted of Starscream getting the works while the general leered at the poor bastards forced to look after him, Slater apparently unwilling to trust non-seekers in light of some of Sentinel’s newer, slaggier bills. Starscream couldn’t blame him, not that he spent very much time thinking about it, entranced by the comfort being showered on him, (sometimes literally,) and when they returned to the staff dorm apartment he knew that he looked good, because Skyfire forgot to protest his absence in favour of staring at him with his mouth wide open. Starscream flounced past him, snorting at the fact that Skyfire had been playing cards with the one member of Slater’s service trine who had been left behind, and went into his room, feeling like he was wearing battle armour - because every last, minute bit of paint had been removed from his frame.

He was himself.

“St-Star, you look amazing,” spluttered Skyfire, stumbling into his door frame. “Did you repaint, or…?”

“Skyfire, this is how I look normally, I’m usually wearing paint,” said Starscream, admiring himself in front of his mirror. He smirked at Slater, who had come up beside Skyfire and was eying the shuttle sideways in distinct disapproval. “Slate, I look like I could take out a Prime.”

“You may be capable, some orn,” decided Slater, to Skyfire’s sputtering. “Best get some rest, Starscream, you know what your sire is like.”

“What is he like, Star?” asked Skyfire lostly, still righteously amazed by Starscream’s splendour.

“Demanding, imperious… racist…” Starscream attempted to find all of the adjectives which described his dominant sire, “…leader… protective, addicted to fragging… oh, also, ‘slagheap’ applies.”

“Starscream,” admonished Slater disinterestedly, wandering out of sight.

“Doing your duty as usual, Slate,” smirked Starscream, making a finger gun and lounging on his berth, which had been supplied with extra pillows. He smirked at Skyfire, “Goodnight, Skyfire.”

“Why are you so happy? I thought that we were dreading this,” remarked Skyfire.

“I told you, Sky; I feel badaft and ready to take on the world right now,” sneered Starscream.

Skyfire didn’t say anything for a moment, then he decided, “You’re weird,” and walked away, probably to try and see if he could finish his ridiculous card game. Starscream remotely shut his door and laid back, refusing to admit, even to himself, that he was petrified.

It was as if Unicron were coming.

* * *

Killjoy had clearly known somehow (Slater,) that it was Starscream’s day off, and for reasons quite beyond Starscream (probably to be the maximum amount of controlling/annoying,) he arrived promptly in Iacon’s morning. Starscream was still in a state of morning bliss, sprawled quite unconscious on his berth amongst his pillows, unaware that his sire had arrived. He was tired, he had had a long decaorn, and he foolishly wasn’t expecting Killjoy to show up until that evening. He was not expecting Killjoy to leave Vos at not-even-Primus-cared-when just to scare the slag out of him. Starscream was startled awake by a noise, a noise like someone was entering his room (probably Skyfire,) and lulled into complacency (because he thought that it was fragging Skyfire,) he slumped back into rest, snuggling against one of his pillows with a purr.

“Starscream, what the frag has tired you out so badly?”

Starscream’s screech of horror and the banging as he attempted to scramble away from his unimpressed and very suddenly-there-sire would probably give Skyfire nightmares for many vorns afterwards. There was a crash as the half asleep shuttle onlined, forgot where the frag his pedes were, and stumbled out of his room, almost running into the couch. The only reason he didn’t was because Slater’s service trine (who had apparently stationed themselves there,) hissed at him, and Starscream didn’t dare look away from his sire’s face, especially as Killjoy growled, “I am not impressed that you are sharing quarters with _the shuttle.”_

Beyond Starscream’s berthroom, the mech under debate moaned in pain, managing, albeit only in Neocybex, “Starrr, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Skyfire,” grimaced Starscream as his sire glared at him, “go back to berth, I was just startled by something!”

“Oww, okay, if-if you say - _ack!_ I wasn’t touching your couch - my couch - Primus…” Skyfire stumbled away, probably sporting several freshly bleeding gouges from the furiously hissing service trine on the couch. Starscream waited until he was sure that Skyfire had made it back to his berth and collapsed again, then he smiled through bared denta at his sire.

“Soo, how was your trip, most regal, beautiful sire of mine?” asked Starscream.

“Boring,” said Killjoy. “Do you understand what I say about the shuttle? Do you remember what I said about you and interface and other frame types? Because I will _kill_ anyone who defiles you - I will have them shot by a firing squad of sixty, no blindfold.”

“Very greatly understood; have you happened to notice how very, very large Skyfire is compared to me? That slag isn’t happening,” said Starscream, recoiling. He lowered his voice, “His spike’s probably -”

“Gross, Starscream, I don’t want to imagine it, and it disturbs me that you would even remotely,” huffed Killjoy. He took his servo and Starscream had no choice but to follow him out the door, Killjoy declaring, “I was not impressed when I found out that you graduated without telling us.”

“When did you learn that?” demanded Starscream as they stood in the living room, watching his sire inspect his energon supply, which was carefully separated from Skyfire’s.

“A metacycle ago,” growled Killjoy. “I saw fit to question Slater about it.”

Starscream winced; at least Yellowstreak had not blabbed. He glanced at Slater, who watched silently from a chair at the edge of the room, optics brooding.

“Slater believes that you should stay here longer,” noted Killjoy. “I wonder: why should I agree, when you don’t have the decency to inform us of your graduation? I am proud of your accomplishments here, Starscream, not that they are unfortunately at all important given your coding. Why did you not share with us? Tell me.”

Starscream in-vented harshly, steeling himself, “I… I believed that you would make me return to Vos as soon as it was done.”

“And now I’m considering making you return anyway,” said Killjoy. “You’ve been omitting information, Starscream, and I don’t like that. You are still mine, until you belong to your trine; now, why should I let you stay?”

“Should I ever be needed to rule, I will need life experiences beyond raising sparklings, illustrious Sire,” said Starscream nervously.

“Starscream, should something somehow happen to Courageflight, Stardust and Softclaw all as well as to me, the crown will pass over you to Strut, because you’ll be too busy raising seekerlings,” sniffed Killjoy. “It’s quite impossible that you will ever rule, and at this rate, I’m afraid that you’ll be trining Tanzing. Honestly, you don’t really seem any less surly and defiant as you were when you originally came here, so do show me the positive effect this despicable place is having on you; show me around. Surely there’s something which the wing-obsessed grounder idiot running this place has done which has somehow benefited you in your future life as a noble carrier.”

Starscream could think of absolutely nothing. He shivered and led Killjoy to the door, praying that Skyfire would not online again to make matters worse. Slater slinked after them, leaving his service trine behind with Skyfire, and Starscream took Killjoy to his lab where he shakily showed him the experiments which he had so lovingly planned, the fascinating things which he was constantly learning. He gave his sire a data chip containing all of his papers and waited for judgement, feeling like he was about to be either smited or blessed. Killjoy did not say anything when he was done; he merely subspaced the chip, and ordered Starscream to lead him back to his apartment, where a confused Skyfire took a hard step back at the sight of them.

“Wow, uh, hello! It’s great to meet you, sir!” exclaimed Skyfire, holding out a shaking servo. Killjoy ignored it, his upper lip curling as he canted his dislike for Starscream’s benefit.

“Skyfire was second in our graduating vorn,” defended Starscream, finding his moxie. “I was first; we beat out all the grounders.”

“Y-yeah,” agreed Skyfire.

Killjoy said nothing.

“Skyfire’s brilliant,” said Starscream, “he’s loyal, caring, and he always tells the truth.”

“Does he now,” sneered Killjoy. “Shuttle, do you have feelings for my creation?”

Starscream froze; he didn’t want to know -

“W-we’re just friends and lab partners,” Skyfire assured him, “nothing more. Starscream’s way too small for me to like him that way - I mean, I can pick him up like he’s a mechanimal.”

Killjoy scowled, “Please, refrain from doing that, it is undignified.” He glanced at Starscream, then turned to the door, detailing, “My creation and I are going for a fly alone. Maybe I will bring him back, maybe I will not.”

Not daring to look at Skyfire, Starscream hurried out the door, and spent the next three joors soaring over Iacon in awkward silence. Killjoy took him to a heavily guarded dinner afterwards, studying Starscream he nervously ate. When they got home, Skyfire was almost hysterically relieved to see Starscream, but Killjoy did not give them any chance to visit, steering Starscream into his room, then firmly shutting the door. Killjoy laid down with him, and Starscream nervously reciprocated his sire’s grooming until he was too tired, Killjoy’s proximity seeming to dull his senses. Relaxed into complacency, he nuzzled into his creator, purring in faintly remembered affection as he felt safe, just for a breem, a groon…

* * *

Killjoy and Slater plus the mecha they had brought were gone when Starscream onlined the next morning and since Starscream had woken up in his own berth, he gagged in relief that he had somehow passed Killjoy’s test. He and Skyfire waited until nightfall to be sure, but when his kin didn’t return even then, they celebrated with treats and high grade, then invited Muffler over. The next orn they returned to training with Novaray, who remained extremely reserved around Starscream, no longer the enthusiastic dynamo which he had been before. He took them on a training run to Velocitron, and then, suddenly, that was it - Novaray left for Praxus without a glyph about Starscream coming with him.

Without ceremony, because they were scared of drawing attention from repugnant grounders and seekers alike, Starscream and Skyfire left Cybertron on their first mission the very next orn. Interstellar space was every bit as removed from Vos as Starscream had ever hoped that it would be and he spent the long tracts of time between stars planning upcoming missions with Skyfire. If they weren’t doing that, they were listening to podcasts which they had uploaded before leaving Cybertron, and that was how they kept up with the news of their world, if somewhat reluctantly.

While they soared from planet to planet, chasing stardust, comets and energon, diving through spectacular nebulae to look upon splendid wonders, Cybertron changed. While they were gone, that first vorn-long mission, an energon crisis was called, making their work even more important, since it was only the need for the fuel which funded their adventures. Starscream and Skyfire detailed world after world containing it to Iacon - and meanwhile, levels of oppression rose as fear of starvation made higher class mecha stamp down upon the low. Flight frames became less tolerated, the dreaded aerial licensing act approved, and Starscream and Skyfire were nearly arrested when they flew down to Iacon with wings devoid of the appropriate legal markings after vorns away. Flashpoint argued their case, but the kindly dean was now on unstable ground, and he hastily sent them back out, pledging that they were safer out beyond Cybertron, free in the galaxy.

Perhaps because Skyfire was his sole companion, with conversations with any other mecha frequently vorns apart, things changed between them. Starving for contact and wary of the dark, Starscream recharged in his friend’s hold because it was the only way for them to stay together. They were intensely responsible for each other - Skyfire responsible for carrying their fuel and equipment while Starscream was responsible for protecting and leading as well as feeding the alt mode shuttle, whom with his hold fully loaded was incapable of transformation. Fortunately, shuttles were adapted for this problem, able to fuel in both modes (although in alt mode rather weirdly,) and so they depended on each other, growing closer than Starscream had ever imagined that he might be with anyone else.

He wasn’t sure how their first interface happened. They were both bored and lonely, and the only source of comfort which they had was each other. Still, Starscream stubbornly called them friends, and he would have refused to tell a glyph had any of his kinseekers asked, but he had utterly escaped them. Sometimes (or really always,) when he returned he would hear from Flashpoint that they had been by looking for him - that the Winglord of Vos herself was furiously calling for him - but Starscream evaded them.

Often in Skyfire’s hold as they drifted he would stare at the datapad list of potential suitors, just to see if Vos was still standing as the news from Cybertron grew steadily worse, since the list was supposedly being updated in real time. Somehow, the outliers never disappeared, but whenever he returned to Cybertron other entries vanished while others were added. The conehead, Thrust, was gone, presumably happily trined, but Tanzing and Darklight persisted.

Starscream entered his ninetieth vorn in space feeling bitterly grateful that he wouldn’t have to see Cybertron’s light blink out. Skyfire greeted his birth orn with worry, and Starscream grouchily submitted to the examination of the specialist medic from Praxus, but only because of his loyalty to Flashpoint. The medic stared at his spark readouts, and shook his helm, wings drooping. He seemed to gather himself, as if needing strength, and looked at Starscream, who already knew, because he had been beginnings to feel flickers of it, little jags in his spark’s usual steady force.

“You are not trined,” stated the medic as Starscream watched him. “Your spark is destabilizing, Professor - unless it is stabilized with two other seeker sparks, you are going to die within a decavorn, give or take.”

“That’s fine,” chirped Starscream, but it wasn’t fine, yet thanks to the rising cost of things, Flashpoint couldn’t afford to send him to a psyche evaluation. Instead, he sent them back out into space, declaring mournfully that at least out there Starscream might die free of the rising tyranny against flight frames back home. Shuttles were known for their hardiness, so Flashpoint hoped that Skyfire would be recoverable through some non-existent miracle if Starscream deactivated. They left Cybertron that orn on a beautiful, fine, typical Iaconian orn - unaware that Skyfire would never see it again, and that the next time Starscream would, he would be raining Pit down on it from above.

_ I have been very fond of you,_ Flashpoint’s sombre glyphs ran through their minds, _but this is no longer any place for a flight frame._

And so they flew, knowing that they would probably be returning to Praxus instead, but that that wasn’t to be either. Together they ranged, far away from Cybertron, a perfect team honed by the decavorns together.

About to be broken.

* * *

::SKYFIRE! SKYFIRE, I’m sorry that I was a glitch! SKYFIRE, _answer_ me!:: screamed Starscream hoarsely into his comm as he hovered in his alt mode above the seemingly eternally swirling white mass, safely in orbit, nosecone pointed down. It had been orns since Skyfire had responded, since their fight, and Starscream had landed several times to refuel in the more temperate climes of the planet, but he was running out of energon; he wouldn’t make another atmospheric exit. He could either stay in orbit and eventually freeze to death, or he could land and starve. Without Skyfire, he was doomed, and so lonely that he thought the pain of not knowing where Skyfire was might kill him before depravation did. He held his plating tight, shivering in the terrible chill, wishing that he was somewhere warm with Skyfire, that they had chosen to study somewhere on the tropical equator instead.

::SKYFIRE!:: sobbed Starscream. What should he do? Die in orbit, or die below? Either way, he’d eventually end up a wrecked hulk on the planet’s surface - at least from orbit it was still beautiful, glittering beneath its yellow sun. His sensors detected something behind him, tripping a proximity alarm on his HUD, but Starscream was too sparksick to care anymore, and too far away from anyone for it to be mecha. It was probably an asteroid, come to snuff the silly biped organics below before they could evolve into anything interesting.

A ping. Starscream shivered, wondering hopefully whether it was Skyfire, and let his thrusters come online, adjusting his position so that he could look behind, his space-dulled sensor net lighting up as he gazed at the impossible sight of a Vosian stealth interceptor craft barely a hic behind him. A second ping, and he could not help but sob in relief as he detected a target lock, only for paranoia to briefly set in. Then - a brightly coloured trine popped out of an airlock in root mode and powered over to him, Starscream shaking uncontrollably with disbelieving happy grief as the lead mech, a bright green military seeker, stopped in front of him, asking through comm, ::Your Highness, are you alright?::

::M-my shuttle is missing, I thought that I was going to die,:: stammered Starscream.

::Not anymore, Your Highness, we’re taking you home,:: said the green seeker, touching his nosecone gently with a servo, Starscream twitching at the sympathetic gratification which was in the other mech’s field. ::Do your thrusters still work? Yes? Let’s get you the last bit of the way to safety in dignity.::

Starscream weakly fired his thrusters over to the airlock, but he was too cold to fold out of his alt mode which he had been stuck in for so long. Transformation never seemed to want to work, in space.

::It’s alright, Your Highness,” crooned the trine’s yellow member. ::The airlock can open wider.::

Which it did, Starscream drifting inside, the trine coming with him, the airlock swishing shut, Starscream shuddering as the space re-pressurized, then filled with warm air as gravity came online. A medic was called for, and he was carried to the ship’s medical bay, still in his alt mode. An energon drip was started there, and Starscream hazed into recharge without remembering to ask them to look for Skyfire, too exhausted after orns of distress, of fruitless searching and starvation. By the time that he remembered, they were far from the world, well enroute back to Vos, and it was grimly reported that only his life sign had been detected, although the seekers had looked for Skyfire. Whether they actually had or not, Starscream knew that it was too late, and he spent the rest of the trip grieving the death of his lover.

But eventually, Vos came into sight in his viewport, and Starscream was standing ready for his fate when the hatch opened, because anything was better than the Pit which he had just faced. As ready as he had felt to die like an idiotic martyr when he had left Cybertron, Starscream had learned one thing from Skyfire’s demise - Starscream liked himself far too much to willingly greet the end of his existence. He strode down the ramp to greet the angry scowls of his elders, unable to help smiling in spite of them because somehow they were still there, still disapproving, their nation still strong on its wings despite the turmoil elsewhere.

“The prince has been through a lot,” Lieutenant Acid Storm dared to say in Starscream’s defence. “His friend died on the world which we found him orbiting and the prince nearly starved to death trying to find him.”

“That’s Starscream’s call, outlier - get back on your ship and await instructions in orbit,” snapped Mercury. “I will not have those slagging functonists finding out about you.”

“Let’s go, Star,” sighed Comet, taking Starscream’s servo and leading him inside, to where it was warm, bright like the stars were not. Starscream felt like he had well earned his designation screaming for Skyfire amongst them. He dimly heard mecha lecturing him, but none of it mattered, not then - all he gave a frag about was that he was safely home, his family intact. Starscream decided that he would never leave them again, that anything would be worth being able to stay in their presence, to be home.

And it was for that reason that he decided that General Tanzing and Darklight would not do, even as he canted affirmative in reply to Winglord Mercury ordering him to trine them. She seemed relieved that he didn’t argue - it took all of the lift from her argument, and Starscream gratefully went to recharge in his berth.

Except, he had spent quite enough time already resting, and something about Acid Storm had given him an idea. He onlined the list of suitors, watching as it repopulated with all his new not-options, Tanzing still at the front, and scrolled all the way to the back.

The banned outlier pair were still there; the datapad had a read on them somehow, a connection, and Starscream was determined to follow it, because at least if he had to trine, he was going to choose his trinemates himself. He knew absolutely nothing about the two mechs, not even their designations, but he figured that all he had to do was get himself close enough that he could feel their electromagnetic fields and his trining-obsessed spark would tell him where to go like some demented radar beacon.

He made sure that his polish was in order, then he got to work; it didn’t do to look like slag on one’s trining orn, after all - especially if you were a prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last chapter for a while, guys. I do have more of this story written, but past this point it needs editing to make certain that it jives with newer material. If you read the note on the end of the previous chapter, then you know that I am kinda going through a bit of slag right now. This story kind of became a point of stress for a while, so I haven't worked on it in about a month. Thankfully, I only have a few more chapters left to actually write in order to complete this, but that might take a little bit, because I got distracted writing a second Transformers fic, called Rise Up, which has been my stress relief for the past while. Rise Up is intended to be a shorter story than this one, so it shouldn't take very long to complete, but I'm going to do my best not to agonize over either of them. I do intend to post at least the prologue of Rise Up soon, but I literally haven't edited past that first chapter so it might take a week or two for me to put up more. It was originally intended to be the story that I wrote during my big hike overseas that I mentioned a while back that I was supposed to be going on, but, um, well, Covid-19 happened, right? Frag that disease! I still plan on going on that big trip, because I need a mental reset to get on with things and build some confidence - I just don't know anymore when it is happening. Hopefully still in 2020.
> 
> I want to thank you guys so much for your kind comments and kudos, they mean the world to me, and they definitely help me keep going with this. I intend to someday create content professionally, but I haven't been able to, and it's only because of this story that I have actually been able to realize why! So, fanfiction can be healing in a way, and I'm going to do my best to keep posting while refusing to give in to fear. 
> 
> Thank you again as always for reading, I really appreciate it. :)


	38. Eviction Notice

The humans weren’t as dumb as Megatron had hoped and lauded that they were.

Dropping the nuke on Mexico City had worked, at least at first, Soundwave had tensely observed, political tensions worldwide rising to a full out roil. Everything had looked promising as the humans had screamed at each other across their borders, until some of the more intelligent specimens of the species had made the discovery: the United States of America _hadn’t_ dropped the nuke. This had led to a short period of the humans scrambling to figure out who had done the deed, until one particularly brilliant fleshling realized that the Decepticons had stolen one prior to the Mexico City incident, and thus two orns later there was an angry international fleet surrounding the _Nemesis,_ the humans having somehow discerned the general radius which the Constructicons had mined surrounding it.

And, since it was summer, they weren’t likely to leave any time soon.

“Soundwave!” snarled Megatron in typical greeting as Soundwave was lurking in the control room, trying to dissuade Swindle from being Swindle, the mech under his surveillance slipping away gleefully as Megatron stormed in. Lazerbeak, who had been contentedly perched upon Soundwave’s shoulder cannon, dove for the safety of his chest compartment and Soundwave snapped it shut, hoping that Megatron had not seen her. The little casseticon was still healing - Hook had yet to clear her for even flying around Soundwave’s quarters, let alone going off on a mission, and the only reason he had brought her out at all was to give her a change of scenery, his clever casseticon bored to tears of her ordered berth rest.

“Megatron: Constructicons are working on solution to human issue -” began Soundwave, suspecting that this was what the angry tankformer wanted, only to realize belatedly otherwise.

“The predacons have not returned, Soundwave,” growled Megatron angrily, “and neither has Starscream. Where is that seeker?! He should have come back by now!”

Soundwave wondered where Megatron had gotten this assumption, considering that Starscream and his trine had been missing in action for vorns before. He had to remind himself not to give anything away, still processing the secret which the shuttle, Professor Skyfire, harboured, and what he should do with it. That Starscream was sparked - and by his trine no less, as things should be - seemed as precious a thing to Soundwave as it did to the professor. Soundwave remembered his own creations’ beginnings, Laserbeak’s friendly warmth in his chest compartment a reminder of better times, when she had been little, when her siblings had been small(er) too. Soundwave had no delusions about what would happen to Starscream if he dared come back in a weakened creator-state, and he knew that it was likely the very reason why the gravid carrier stayed away. Loyalty to friends and comrades, even to lovers was one thing - but a carrier’s first loyalty was to their creations, whether their bitlets had been born yet or not.

“Buzzsaw: has been unable to locate seekers. Is searching,” replied Soundwave.

“Keep the mission priority on Starscream!” snapped Megatron, and Soundwave heard his old friend’s silent anxiety over his age, his panic because it was getting harder to appear as tough as he always had, the pain he felt in his joints when he woke up some mornings which he did not dare inform Hook about lest it get out across the entire faction through the well-greased rumour mill. The mech needed someone trustworthy to carry on his torch should he perish - and the very best Decepticon carrier whom Megatron knew was Starscream. A creation out of Starscream would be extremely intelligent, would be ruthless - and with their mix of genetics, surely it would be a powerful triple changer like Blitzwing. It would be beautiful like Starscream too, but strong like Megatron, an indomitable mech to conquer all, to stand strong when Megatron’s own strength faded.

Soundwave tried not to feel sick - such a mutt might also be sparked with trine coding, coding which would kill it because no full seeker - of which there were none currently in existence who were untrined - would ever be willing to trine it. It was much of why crossing seekers with other frame types was taboo in their culture - because such mecha were doomed to live a centravorn only.

“Of course,” said Soundwave to Megatron, and he watched Megatron storm off to punch his training dummies, fury at Starscream’s absence grating on the tankformer’s fraying nerves. Swindle having escaped, Soundwave released Laserbeak from his chest compartment and abandoned the mess hall, thinking that it had been too long since he had inspected what Professor Skyfire was doing with the Constructicons. He passed by a laughing Vortex on the way to the medical bay, and could not help but notice that the rotor’s plating seemed brighter than he recalled seeing it in a very long time. The sight made Soundwave’s gait falter, and he turned to watch the hooting rotor walk away, no longer looking dull at all, but vibrant. Laserbeak noticed it too, wondering what it meant, and a quick check to the security cameras had Soundwave seeking the flight deck instead.

Stepping out into the sunshine of the launch platform, Soundwave could not help onlining his shoulder canon at the cacophonious roar of a very strong engine, but the sound shifted away and Soundwave watched, bemused at the sight of what had been a weak shuttle with a welded wing banking smoothly away, circling the flight tower. A second shuttle, Blastoff, shot past, chasing Professor Skyfire, and Soundwave was amazed to see that his plating was looking distinctly more lustrous too.

“Looking good, isn’t he, sir?” observed Scrapper, who was standing with Hook and Mixmaster, the latter taking notes as he watched.

“He’s still favouring his starboard side - that hack Autoglitch must have gotten something wrong when he was reattaching his wing,” sneered Hook, half pleased with this, half very annoyed. He hated that the Autobot medic Ratchet had gotten to the shuttle before them - the powerful flight frame was clearly meant to be a Decepticon. “His acceleration has improved significantly; his takeoff was much stronger. We’ll see how he lands.” Hook caught sight of Laserbeak who had ventured back out onto Soundwave’s shoulder canon and glared, “Don’t even think about it, femme.”

Laserbeak huddled closer to Soundwave’s shoulder, Soundwave responding for her as Ravage came over to silently greet him, “Laserbeak: does not feel up to flying.”

“Good, because she’s _not_ up to it,” snapped Hook. He groaned as there was an uncanny shrill of incoming alien aerial attack vehicles, “Aw slag - those damned fleshies have noticed that we got the tower up -” ::- Blastoff, Skyfire, return.::

The two shuttles swooped in obediently, and well before the humans could get anywhere near them they were back in the lift, the tower retracting back down with a grumble of metallic friction. Everyone present but Skyfire felt distinctly glad that they were no longer dependant on access to the surface for survival, Soundwave noted - the ground bridge had been a good acquisition indeed. The neutral shuttle was glad at least that they had a way out which did not involve flying past angry, well-armed organics, and Soundwave observed the mech’s mind drifting back to his current project in the medical bay. It was… something for Starscream? To help him? Skyfire guiltily hoped that it would ingratiate him back into his friend’s good graces, since sooner or later the seeker would know what he had done, and the shuttle knew Starscream would be extremely slagged off about it.

Soundwave made a note to find out exactly what Skyfire was doing now, and he tilted his helm, listening to Hook mentally prattle as he gazed sidelong at the two shuttles, _Wish we’d had jet grade sooner. Been so long since I’ve seen a flight frame without dull plating, must be what, Scrapper, hundred centravorns or more?_

_ Probably more like three hundred,_ said Scrapper, in the unnatural telepathic bond of the gestalt. It wasn’t as strong as a trinebond - the gestalt mecha could chat with each other, but they could only _feel_ when they were combined, while Soundwave knew that seekers were pretty much always conscious of their trinemates. Onslaught was quite glad that he didn’t have to know what Swindle felt, Soundwave had noticed, and most gestalts outside of the Constructicons seemed at least mildly unnerved by the experience of being combined, of feeling so much from so many mecha, yet also temporarily losing their individuality at the same time.

_ Long aft time, anyway,_ agreed Mixmaster. _Too bad Screamer ain’t here, bet he’d look like a million shanix again with his plating all nice._

_ Seekers would throw a party,_ smiled Scrapper behind his mask. 

Soundwave followed the mecha back into the medical bay, Blastoff giving Skyfire a happy farewell at the door (apparently he was enjoying having a new fellow shuttle around, and he was wondering hopefully when Skyfire would take up the cause.) Ignoring the wonderings of the Constructicons over why he was following them inside, Soundwave shadowed Skyfire into Mixmaster’s lab, then shut the door before the Constructicon could follow. Gingerly taking Laserbeak to avoid causing her pain, he placed her on Ravage’s back so that the siblings could spend some time together, then faced the nervous shuttle whom he held captive.

“Query: what is it that you are making for Starscream?” demanded Soundwave, and immediately he was flooded with details as the professor was unwillingly reminded of his work.

_ How did he know?! Slag, that’s so creepy! Is he going to stop me?! Starscream needs this, he’s probably sick without it!_ prattled the shuttle fearfully, massive wings quaking. _He could be on berth rest right now but I don’t know because I’m here and I can’t get to him! There’s no way that I can fly past all those guns that the humans have. Plus, they’ll think that I’m a Decepticon, but I’m not and frag I wish I wasn’t caught up in this war, I don’t understand how they’ve kept it up this long -_

“Laserbeak: this is Professor Skyfire,” noted Soundwave, interrupting the mech’s internal tirade, which was immediately replaced with, _what the slag is that? Is it weird like Ravage, or -_ “Laserbeak: is Ravage’s sister.”

The shuttle was dumbfounded, and Soundwave left him trying to work this matter out, Ravage following closely at his pedes - the shuttle didn’t need him anymore. The professor was too cowardly to leave the _Nemesis_ with the humans in occupancy, and he had made friends among the Decepticons. The neutral would be turned - and so long as he stayed out of Megatron’s view, the shuttle would be reasonably safe. He was even pulling his weight better than some of the existing Decepticons.

Soundwave went to find Swindle again - until the next war meeting and raid, there was little else to do but maintain order.

* * *

Thundercracker leapt up on the sturdy concrete building and peered down, twitching his wings back as he saw the sleazy little weapons dealer whom they had bought the land mines from standing in the alleyway below. The humans didn’t know that they were there yet - they had snuck up on foot, nulling the power grid, and the man and his thuggish friends were all standing around a enormous, noisy vehicle which Bitstream had somehow identified as a Hummer. Thundercracker studied the organics uneasily, unpleasantly conscious of the information which Bitstream had gleaned, that the planet’s native sentients, at least in North America, were no longer quite as accommodating as they had been since Megatron’s foolish (so Starscream said,) use of the nuclear bomb.

Over a million humans had died - and the survivors were righteously spitting mad about it. The President of the United States had furiously declared in a public broadcast that the Decepticon presence would no longer be tolerated and Thundercracker knew that their seekers had been previously well documented as ‘cons, meaning that they potentially had a new enemy now. So far, according to Ratchet, whom they had allowed contact with the Ark using an encrypted signal, the humans weren’t ready to evict the Autobots - but there was significant pressure being put on them to take care of the Decepticon problem. Some of the humans were screaming for a nuclear missile to be aimed upon the Nemesis, but backlash from environmental protections was keeping that at bay.

Thundercracker shifted uneasily - the only reason he was back here at all was because Starscream had been whining his aft off about wanting certain bomb components, and because they needed to replace the land mines which the deactivated Predacons had set off. Also, they needed more ammunition for the turret, not to mention Starscream had also nagged at length about wanting more anti-aircraft munitions should any revolting organics show up

Hearing the lead, very Swindle-like human complain about them being late, Thundercracker dropped to the ground, causing all of the organics to yelp very amusingly. Restraining the urge to swat them into the nearest wall (as had been his response to pretty much every human that he had met since arriving on the planet,) Thundercracker growled, the ugly little creatures taking harried steps backwards, one almost knocking over a companion as Thundercracker’s escort jumped down behind him.

The swarthy lead human somehow stood his ground, barking in very poor English, “You late, robot alien! You bring moneys?”

Bitstream withdrew the large case of human money from his subspace and put it on the ground in front of the lead human, who beamed hungrily at the sight of it, declaring, “Aw, this good relationship! Much appreciated, much thank you!” He barked something in his natal language at his shaking lackeys and they hurriedly retrieved some large black cases from the back of the Hummer which Hotlink inspected carefully before accepting. Thundercracker was just getting ready to make the signal to leave when the lead human swaggered bravely up to him, grinning, “You kind in trouble, robot alien - ‘merica no like you. ‘merica big bad country; whatta you gonna do abou’ dat?”

“We are not Decepticons,” growled Thundercracker, spreading his wings.

“Oh, but you look like, I think,” said the human, squinting quizzically up at him.

“We are not,” snapped Thundercracker, irritated by the nerve of the little creature. If not for his usefulness in procuring them explosives, he would have stomped the irritating thing. “Don’t confuse us with those idiots, we are _Seeker.”_

“Uh huh,” chuckled the human, his careless tone suggesting _whatever that means!_ “You have nice day, eh? Good business!” He returned to his Hummer which his lackeys had already piled themselves into and Thundercracker watched irritably as the vehicle backed away, then zoomed off back into the maze of the crumbling town. Thundercracker made sure that the organics were fully gone, then he turned and walked off, leading his mecha into the wild, dry mountains surrounding the city before taking back to the sky. A few joors of interference flying later, they banked back into their base’s airspace and Thundercracker landed gratefully on Starscream’s ledge, which his carrier-mate had been too weak to occupy for over a decaorn now. While Hotlink went to process their purchases and stow them, he approached his trinemates, Skywarp trilling, happy at his return. 

Contrastingly, and worryingly, despite possessing a functional intake again, Starscream was a limp, blanket wrapped heap, still attached to an energon drip because no matter how well they managed to fuel him, no matter what nutritional slag Ratchet injected into his lines, the Winglord remained chronically hungry. He was too weak to stand but he could at least sit up for a few joors an orn now, and he had been well enough to work on his bomb design again. Mercifully, despite Starscream’s poor state their newsparks remained very well, much to the bemusement of Ratchet, who half complained, half praised that they were quite possibly the healthiest newsparks that he had ever seen.

“They’d better be, cannibalistic little fraggers,” Starscream had growled darkly to this, but then he had spent the entire evening purring to the very same encumbrances with something suspiciously like love in his field.

“Oh, Star,” sighed Thundercracker, sitting beside him and sharing a greeting kiss with Skywarp, then resting a servo on Starscream’s warm side. The carrier didn’t respond, too deep in slumber, and Thundercracker let him stay in recharge, Skywarp reporting that he had been online for a few joors while Thundercracker had been gone, but that he had tired himself out working on his datapad, trying to figure out potential tactics in response to the human threat. Slipping his carrier-mate’s datapad out from under his motionless servo, Thundercracker brought the device back online, hoping vaguely to see what Starscream had written, only to be disappointed by the lines of heavily coded, backwards text which the Winglord preferred to write in, jealous of anyone knowing his plans before he was ready to divulge them.

“Any idea what he’s thinking, Warp?” sighed Thundercracker, putting the datapad back down.

“Lotta stuff; he thought about sending the Predacons’ helms back to Megatron for a while,” said Skywarp, Thundercracker grimacing at the grisly trophies which Starscream had ordered hung over the doorway leading to the rest of the base. Their dead optics stared back at them grotesquely. “He was pretty amused about the idea of flipping off Buckethelm that way, until he thought maybe that might get him on the List.” Skywarp ex-vented, “TC, I’m not used to Star being afraid of stuff, usually he just charges in and we hang out with him in the medical bay for a few orns afterwards. It’s weird him being so cautious all of a sudden, and I don’t like that our litter’s taking all his strength.”

“I don’t either, Warp,” admitted Thundercracker, studying their unconscious mate again.

“Is he going to go back to normal after he’s given birth?” asked Skywarp.

Thundercracker shuttered his optics - he already knew that their mate would probably never be the same again - but neither would they. “Warp, we’re creators now, everything’s going to be different when we get back to Vos.”

“I can’t remember what it’s like to not fight,” said Skywarp, baring his claws and staring at their sharp edges, “to not kill.”

“I wish we’d never had to learn,” said Thundercracker solemnly. _I want to go home… _

Their sad moment of self pity was interrupted by Starscream coming back online with an inelegant grunt, the carrier growling, “Bitstream, I want Bitstream.”

Thundercracker stared at him - this wasn’t what he expected in greeting from his trinemate after being absent. “Why?”

“Don’t question me!” snapped Starscream, attempting to sit up and huffing when he failed. “Bitstream! Get him! Now, Warp!”

“Uh, okay, Star,” said Skywarp and he vanished.

“How are you, love?” Thundercracker dared to ask.

“Horrid,” hissed Starscream, writhing slightly as if trying to get himself sitting vertical, then slumping with a pointed glare at Thundercracker, who pulled him into his lap with a sigh. The winglord twitched his wings weakly, demanding, “My parts?”

“Got them, Star,” promised Thundercracker. He grimaced, “Um, Star, I don’t want you actually handling a live _bomb_ right now -”

Skywarp’s abrupt materialization and a groaning Bitstream cut him off, Starscream’s condescending glare transferring to the hacker.

“Bitstream, I want you to contact the fragging _Victory_ and call it in,” barked Starscream.

“W-what?!” spluttered Bitstream at nearly the same time as Thundercracker.

“Contact the_ Victory!_ Don’t make me repeat myself!” snarled Starscream. “Tell Overlord that dearest Megatron has become beset by organics, that the _Nemesis_ has crashed, and that the _Ark_ has as well, that Optimus-fragging-Prime is trapped here.”

“Um, sir,” gulped Bitstream, gaze darting to Thundercracker as if hoping for some sanity, then back to Starscream when the carrier’s menacing engine growl grew. “Is that wise?”

“Do not question me! Just do it!” shrieked Starscream, managing impressive volume considering his complete inability to stand on his own pedes, wings flicking wispily yet somehow still threateningly. “Now!”

“Sir, it will take me at least an orn to work out how to broadcast it that far and encrypt it so that Overlord can’t track our location on this planet -” spluttered Bitstream.

“Then it’ll take an orn!” snapped Starscream. “Go! Make Hotlink help you!”

Bitstream ran away, and Thundercracker winced, wondering silently, _Star, why are you inviting more Decepticons here?_

His carrier-mate smirked at him, looking quite deranged, “Why, TC - we’re going to steal their ship.”

Thundercracker had been wrong - their lunatic winglord hadn’t been changed by his carrying at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, your kudos, and for your kind comments; they mean a lot to me. <3


	39. Resonate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long-awaited chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! Sending you love from Canada!

“Starscream, I said a _few_ space missions, not you _staying_ out there indefinitely! What the slag were you trying to do?” snarled Slater, pacing back and forth in his berthroom. “Die? Because the Rainmakers said you nearly did!”

“Rainmakers?” questioned Starscream, pretending to pose it as an idle query.

“_Yes,_ Rainmakers - that trine of matched outliers who found you and headed that mission,” snapped Slater. 

“But outliers are illegal,” frowned Starscream.

“Only by the law of the Functionists,” snapped Slater. “Historically, we seekers embraced them, but it’s like all things beautiful and powerful - the Functionists don’t like, so the Functionists _ban.”_

“But the Rainmakers live,” said Starscream.

“Starscream, their spark gift is generating acid rain corrosive enough to eat through plating, they’re like a living super weapon, we’d be completely insane to euthanize them,” said Slater. “They’re not the only outliers either; if a spark gift is very useful, the individual who sports it isn’t killed.”

“Hmm,” said Starscream, but internally his spark gift raced: _if a spark gift is very useful…_ “Are spark gifts genetic?”

“Sometimes,” said Slater, “that’s why it’s illegal to trine with outliers, Starscream, you know that - _agh!_ Don’t you know how your joy flight in space made me _look?!”_

Starscream let him rant; everyone else had already had a turn, and Slater was probably the least cruel about it. As soon as Slater was gone he hid in his wash rack and worked on hacking the datapad more, but the connection was heavily encrypted and was proving very difficult to crack. Starscream was determined that it would be no match for him though, so he persevered, digging through the layers of complexity in the sophisticated program, getting close, his excitement rising (maybe soon he’d finally have their designations,) -

“Starscream! Where the Pit are you?” called Killjoy. 

Starscream cursed and stuffed the datapad back in his subspace, leaping from the wash rack with, “Glorious Sire! Hello! How are you?”

Killjoy winced, “You’ve been away from other mecha too long, come on. It’s time you courted properly with General Tanzing and Lieutenant Darklight.”

_ Eww._ Starscream’s smile became distinctly forced.

“Star, you’re only a few vorns from spark destabilization, so you really don’t have the leisure of choice anymore,” said Killjoy. “Besides, Tanzing has other options and he still prefers you.”

“That’s because I’m a prince,” snorted Starscream.

“Obviously,” agreed Killjoy, taking his hand and Starscream reluctantly followed him into a spacious anteroom used for informal meetings, where his trine-to-be were waiting. Tanzing was pacing but Darklight was sitting, both looking anxious, but both smiling wide in what Starscream belatedly comprehended was relief at seeing him. Killjoy sighed and let go of Starscream, sitting at the far side of the room, declaring, “Here, Tanzing, you have two joors and keep in mind that I can still nix this if I dislike the way that you are handling him. Refrain from touching him for this visit, he had his medical check this morning but he’s been flinching when mecha touch him, so we want to give him a few orns to become used to that again.”

Starscream somewhat doubted that Killjoy could cancel the trining, but Tanzing agreed graciously and stepped beaming closer to Starscream with Darklight, declaring happily, “My dear prince, you gave us quite the scare, disappearing like that for half a centravorn.”

Starscream was sure it had made Tanzing’s finances look temporarily better though. He tried not to laugh and ruffled his plating at the now familiar sensation of his spark resonating. Straining through the haze of very strong coding imploring him to want them, he did not like the way it felt resonating with theirs as much as it had with Novaray, and he didn’t like how they walked up to him, flanking him as if he was an opposing army, or a helpless petrorabbit with they the turbowolves. He didn’t like how they hushed their voices slightly when they spoke to him, as if they thought that they might spook him if they spoke to him like normal mecha. Overall, the fraggers bored him, and he couldn’t stand the idea of a resentful eternity of looking at them every single orn, of having to submit his intimacy to them so that he could bear their hideous offspring.

The coding made him sit with them though, turning his fake smile genuine as his tired, broken spark flared happy. Starscream smiled nicely as they talked about themselves, and refrained from bragging about himself in turn. He listened as they told him how worried they had been, thanking their lucky trined sparks - a single trinemate’s spark could keep destabilization at bay for up to twenty centravorns, giving them the luxury of time, of waiting. They had known that he was growing up, had guessed wildly that he had carrier coding, and had been delighted when Winglord Mercury had proposed the wonderful idea at his launch ball. Such a luxury, being able to watch their trinemate grow from adorable seekerling in the tabloids to a magnificent adult seeker.

“We’ll see you soon, Prince Starscream,” beamed Tanzing when the two joors were up.

“Can’t wait for our trining orn, pretty one,” said Darklight as Starscream walked up to Killjoy, who waited by the door. “Can’t wait to bring you home.”

Not trusting his glyphs, Starscream canted affirmative and walked away with Killjoy without really ever saying a single word to them, His sire was silent for a few kliks, then he ex-vented, “Slater spilled about Novaray, Starscream. What I just saw is not how you behaved for him; Slater said that he witnessed you _taunting_ the professor and making a game out of harassing him, that you were extremely coy as well as a show-off.”

Starscream’s wings twitched, but he said nothing and Killjoy stopped him, cupping his face, grimacing, “They don’t excite you at all, do they?”

Starscream glanced away; what did _that_ matter? He almost felt like the past majority of his life with Skyfire had not happened at all. His lover was gone, and he couldn’t even talk about it - nobody Vosian could ever understand.

“Star… you’re still my best creation,” vented Killjoy, pulling him against his chest and hugging him. “You’ve been a tremendously brave seeker, attending university in a foreign country full of Functionists, going off alone to other worlds, studying alien life, finding energon deposits - all within only one centravorn. You are such an adventurous spark, and it… it shames me that you will spend the rest of your centravorns doing nothing as amazing. I am so proud of you, Starscream, you’re my first and most outstanding creation.”

He released Starscream from the hug and gripped his servo, declaring sadly, “I wish that things were different…”

* * *

Starscream trembled as he stared at the datapad screen - after a decaorn of dedicated, determined hacking, he had done it, and now before him was an unencrypted version of the outlier’s entry.

**THUNDERCRACKER/SKYWARP**   
**SPARK SIGMA: SONIC DISRUPTION/TELEPORTATION**

“Holy frag,” whispered Starscream - the outliers were _powerful._ If Slater was right, then it was no wonder that they were still alive - but as he looked over their page to find their location, he almost dropped the datapad as he saw glyphs highlighted in red:

**TO BE TERMINATED**

With the date for their execution which was only a few orns away, Starscream flared his wings in indignation. He searched the page hastily and abruptly found it - the duo were being housed in a secure research lab across the city. Starscream subspaced the datapad and drank back a cube of stiff high grade, deciding that there was nothing else for it - he needed to move his tail if he wanted to avoid spending the rest of his life getting fragged by Tanzing. Shuddering, he checked the window beside his berth; outside, it was the middle of the night. It was a good time to go missing, if one wanted to, although the darkness would do little to conceal his bright livery and he would be highlighted by every city light that he passed - but at least if he succeeded he would have a very stealthy way back in.

Halfway to the door, he paused and took out the datapad to peer at Thundercracker and Skywarp’s entry again: what if they said no? He looked at their pictures, Thundercracker’s handsome, earnest face and Skywarp’s big goofy grin and decided: they couldn’t say no, because Skywarp looked like he loved life too much, so Thundercracker would do whatever his mate wanted. Starscream was a way out for them, a second chance, and there was absolutely no way that either of them could refuse. Besides, they’d all be slagging beautiful together.

Datapad stuffed back in subspace, Starscream slunk out his door then ran as quietly as he could down the hallway, pretending to walk calmly whenever he approached a guard station. The main exits were sealed at night, so he ducked into one of the narrow service corridors which he had once played in as a sparkling. It brought him down to the palace refractory, which was silent with the depth of the night and he hurried across it, escaping out into a cavernous corridor used for deliveries. Reaching a small, very unobtrusive door pocketed away in a corner, he worked on guessing the code and his vorns in university served him well as he broke it, snorting at the predictability of common mecha. Outside it was cold, but even the worst chill of Vos was nothing to outer space, so Starscream did not mind it. His palace upbringing served him well as he avoided guard stations, keeping his wings low, and seeing the expanse of open ground which separated palace from city, he knew that he would have to fly, that he wouldn’t have much time.

But, he could make it look like he was going back to Iacon and double back. Smirking, Starscream lit into the air and transformed, an alarm instantly going off as he was recognized, palace guards rising to chase after him. Flying in space and flying long distance had made him faster though, the fraggers’ blips swiftly abandoned far behind him on his radar. He flew a joor towards Iacon, then he circled around, keeping tediously low. With extreme care he glided to the roof of the building across from the likely heavily guarded facility where his potential trinemates were being held and it looked so unremarkable, not even a sentry anywhere in sight, that he had to double check his datapad. Location confirmed, he considered tactics for a klik, then hovered down to what looked like the front door.

It opened immediately, a frowning seeker stepping out with, “Your Royal Highness, what -”

Starscream shot him in the chest with a null ray, then dragged him inside with him, leaving him in directly in front of the door so that his unconscious frame was guaranteed to trip people. He dug in the mech’s subspace, found a key card, and tried it on the lift, which was the only interior exit in the stark entrance room, smirking when the doors opened with a merry_ ding!_ Nulling the security camera which he saw, he picked a floor at random, but when he got there it didn’t feel right. Picking another, he stepped out of the lift and froze as he felt his spark flicker - the outliers were present and very much alive. A stark grey hallway with no windows led off across the floor, and with no other option, he set off to play the most critical game of hot-cold ever conceived, shooting any cameras he saw with his null rays as he went (mostly because it was fun, not because he imagined that it was actually helping him, since he had neglected to shoot the camera in the entrance foyer.)

He walked past a door and halted hard, then backtracked as inane excitement which had nothing to do with the relative disobedient insanity of his situation filled his spark. Finding the door’s key pad, he tried the card he had stolen; it beeped affirmatively, but the door remained sealed. Frustrated, he thought of shooting it, but past security conversations with Slater reminded him that this would probably only lock the place down harder. Hearing voices, he whirled around, and had a staring contest with what looked like two very surprised scientists.

“Um, what are you -” began one of them.

“Open the door,” commanded Starscream, pointing at it with his null ray.

“Prince Starscream, you may be royal but you don’t have clearance to -” the fragger stopped talking as Starscream aimed his null ray at him instead. The scientist stared at it, then laughed, “Sir, that’s just a null ray, and as a carrier, surely -”

_ PEW!_

Having proven that his null rays were very functional, Starscream glared at the remaining scientist, who saw fit to point out, “You know he’s not dead?”

“He could be,” leered Starscream.

“Primus, you’re a psychopath,” decided the scientist. “Alright, I’ll let you in, it’s not like you are going to hurt anything.”

“Just think that,” sneered Starscream.

“Your Highness, the only thing down this corridor is a pair of outliers,” said the scientist as he tapped in his code.

“I know,” snapped Starscream, “you’re going to unlock that door too.”

“And then you’re going to shoot me with your null ray just like you did Polar,” assumed the scientist with a sigh.

“I don’t want you fragging watching or telling anyone!” snapped Starscream.

“Fine, fine, I suppose it will be a learning experience,” ex-vented the scientist and he gloomily led Starscream into the corridor, which was pitch black until he switched on the light, singing as he typed in a code, “rise and shine, outliers! This orn’s your lucky -”

_ PEW!_

Starscream jittered gleefully - shooting mecha was far more fun than shooting asteroids out of his way. He critically admired the way that the scientist had slumped to the floor for a klik, then with anxiety blooming fresh in his flaring spark, he pulled open the unsealed door, then stopped.

They were already online, of course - they had sensed him as soon as he had sensed them, the pair curled up tightly together on the narrowest, sorriest excuse for a berth which Starscream had ever seen. There was no blankets, no pillows, not even any cushion, the berth really just a platform - and to cap off their slag living situation, their room was puny, with no windows, just a projector which was playing dim aerial footage of flying over a mountain range. There was no energon dispenser or datapads even - literally all the two mechs had was each other, and, now, him.

He surveyed them intently as they studied him back, both looking terrified, especially the black seeker, Skywarp, but that was fading fast. Very, very slowly, Thundercracker, the dominant, disentangled himself from Skywarp, exposing for Starscream’s view a heavy and disturbingly short chain connecting Skywarp to the wall by one pede, presumably there to prevent the poor mech from teleporting. Thundercracker was not so tethered - he stood up with ease, his gaze intent on Starscream, who felt like he couldn’t quite move as the blue seeker inspected him. Skywarp’s optics were wide and he kept fearfully glancing at Thundercracker for guidance, but his trinemate was completely silent except for the soft sound of him drawing in Starscream’s scent. Meanwhile, Starscream shook like a leaf, for he felt like he had just entered the domain of some predatory beast as Thundercracker intimidated him more than Tanzing or Novaray ever had.

“You… you want to live?” squeaked Starscream, trembling harder as Thundercracker stepped closer. Perhaps this had been a bad idea; perhaps being in captivity for most of their lives had made the outliers wild -

“Yes,” said Thundercracker softly, barely a stride separating them. Ignoring the beckoning open door, Thundercracker proceeded to circle him, Starscream flinching his wings up out of the dangerous outlier’s way.

“I-I’m a prince,” said Starscream lamely. “They can’t kill me… or those I’m… I’m trined t-t-to.” He hiccupped, adding, “I… I’m fourth in line to the crown. I’m valuable, I’m -”

“We can’t get out,” sighed Thundercracker bitterly as on the berth platform Skywarp whined. He returned to it and sat beside his trinemate in the same spot where he had huddled, “So, unless you have something to remove this chain, we’re not going anywhere. We’re scheduled to be terminated, did you know that? My spark is destabilizing, so they call it mercy.”

Starscream vented sharply, “Mine… is doing that too. Only maybe not as immanently because… I’m only ninety-five.”

Thundercracker snorted, “That doesn’t matter.”

But it did. They were far older than he was. Starscream looked at the chain, and bit his lip - he had to do something, and fast. He didn’t want to trine them here, where there wasn’t even a proper berth to cushion his wings. The pair watched him silently and he knew that they had no answers, that they had already tried absolutely everything that they could to get themselves out. Their jailors had probably given up on tethering Thundercracker as soon as he had trined Skywarp - the blue seeker couldn’t abandon his mate. Skywarp whined again, excited and nervous, at which Thundercracker gently hushed him, but both of them remained tensed, poised as Starscream examined the chain.

“Hey, what the frag is going on here!” exclaimed someone in the hallway, and Starscream was at the door in a flash. The seeker saw him, began to yell, and with a satisfying PEW! he collapsed with a thud, Starscream smirking, then nearly jumping out of his plating as Skywarp gleefully yelled, “YOUR NULL RAYS WORK?!”

“Holy slag, Skywarp!” protested Thundercracker, almost falling off the berth platform in his haste to get away from Skywarp’s sudden excess in volume. “Don’t fragging scare him! You scared _me!”_

“Sorry, he doesn’t look scared though,” noted Skywarp, and then the idiot started purring for no reason whatsoever, and Starscream stared at him, wondering whether he should find him cute or insane.

“Skywarp, don’t be weird,” groaned Thundercracker.

Skywarp ignored him, informing Starscream happily, “You’re pretty.”

It was such an honest statement that Starscream was taken aback, blurting, “Thank you.” He bent down and poked at the chain again, jumping badly when suddenly Skywarp was crouched companionably beside him, squawking, “Whoa!”

“Sorry, Skywarp’s prone to sudden movements,” grimaced Thundercracker, reaching for Skywarp. “Comes with being a teleporter, I guess - even when he can’t do it he’s good at surprising mecha. Scares the slag out of the guards.”

“Well, I just spent quite a few decavorns mostly in space, so I’m not really used to touching anymore,” twitched Starscream as Skywarp stubbornly refused to move from his place right beside him, their wings brushing. “Is there a charge in this chain?”

“Yes, but my sonics don’t effect it,” sighed Thundercracker.

Starscream glared at the offensive thing, “Then I’ll try nulling it.”

“Skywarp, back up - Skywarp!” protested Thundercracker as Skywarp proceeded to hide behind Starscream instead, probably to additionally admire his wings. Starscream ex-vented, accepting that Skywarp was an oddball, and shot the chain, jumping at the sound, then scowling as nothing happened to the restraint.

“Fragging Primus, I’ll_ shoot_ it then,” snarled Starscream.

“You’ll what?” frowned Thundercracker, and both outliers leapt in terror for each other as Starscream transformed, activated his anti-gravs, and rose in the air. They scrambled back as far away from Starscream as possible as he took aim, Thundercracker shrieking, “ARE YOU INSANE?! _WHY DO YOU HAVE GUNS?!_ YOU’RE A FRAGGING PRINCE!”

A flash of loud, brilliant red, and Starscream transformed to smirk at his handiwork, the end of the chain melted into slag which was definitely no longer connected to the pockmarked, traumatized wall. He looked at his wide-eyed suitors and spread his arms beckoningly, “I’m all yours, fraggers.”

“You’re fragging crazy,” spluttered Thundercracker.

Skywarp just gaped at Starscream as if he was Primus coming forth to make a prophecy happen or something.

“Um, this is your cue to come with me,” grumbled Starscream as Skywarp suddenly reached for him. “You know, esca-” He cycled his optics as he abruptly found himself standing outside, on the roof of the building no less beside Skywarp, who was giggling with manic happiness, while Thundercracker looked distinctly windblown, his wings off kilter. Skywarp had a hand on both of them.

“I teleported you,” chirped Skywarp unnecessarily, clearly expecting Starscream to praise him.

“Y-you did,” said Starscream faintly, looking rapidly around as his processor readjusted with difficulty to the location change, his wings flaring in alarm. “Y-you r-really d-did -”

“We have to get out of here!” urged Thundercracker, snapping himself out of his own funk with a jerk as they heard the approach of thrusters, blips swarming closer from the edge of Starscream’s radar like an incoming wave of scraplets. “Prince Whatever-Your-Designation is, where do we go?!”

Starscream stared at the horde of governmental seekers steadily blacking out the midnight light pollution and pushed his hand into Skywarp’s, imagining that he was some grand commander of an army as he pointed straight at the onrushing veritable army of seekers, towards the distant palace.

“Onwards -”

He fast regretted saying ‘onwards,’ because apparently Skywarp possessed absolutely no qualms about teleporting in any direction, even the one which his enemies were in, and he didn’t appear to need an actual destination. Starscream found himself on another roof as enforcers shot past them, and before he could fully evaluate his surroundings they had shifted again, Skywarp seeming to be taking them for the teleportation version of a joy flight. He seemed to utterly lack any fear of the situation, and in the midst of the abrupt geographic shifts Starscream managed to meet Thundercracker’s gaze, the other seeker looking just as miserable as he was, as if he had spent so much time with Skywarp unable to teleport in a tame little jail cell that he had forgotten that the fragger _could_ teleport. Skywarp, meanwhile, was embracing sweet freedom to its absolute fullest extent and was having a field day, Starscream getting gradually more nauseous as they flicked about the city at horrifying speed.

“Sky -” _vop_ “-warp -” _vop_ “- can -” _vop_ “- we -” _vop “STOP?!”_ shrieked Starscream, and abruptly they were stationary, Starscream looking around in bewilderment as they stood atop… a mountain? “Where the frag are we?” Vos seemed to be off in the distance.

“I dunno,” said Skywarp happily.

“That’s helpful,” snorted Thundercracker. He looked around, deciding with a little smile, “At least we’re free.”

This apparently gave Skywarp permission to teleport again.

“Skywarp!” cried Thundercracker as Starscream attempted to get his gyros back under control, his HUD glitching unpleasantly as it attempted to get a lock on his position. “Hold slagging still for a klik, _please!”_

“But teleporting is so useful and fun,” said Skywarp, not even remotely cowed.

“Is he overcharged?” wondered Starscream as he finally got his bearings; they were still on a mountain, but it seemed to be a different one, slightly to the west of the first.

“No, he just_ really_ likes to teleport,” grumbled Thundercracker. “He can do it faster than that, by the way, that was him being nice, he used to delight in making the researchers purge.”

“I wouldn’t make you purge, Prince What’s-Your-Designation!” giggled Skywarp.

“It’s _Starscream,_ but you can call me _Star,_” groused Starscream. He shook himself, “Look, we need to spark bond and become trine right away or your afts are going to be thrown straight back in there and _I’ll_ be spending the rest of my life playing frag toy to two very boring slagheaps.”

Thundercracker flinched, but Skywarp cocked his head, “So you’d rather be_ our_ frag toy, even though you only just met us?”

Thundercracker swatted Skywarp, hissing, “Skywarp! Watch your language! That’s _rude!”_

“At least you’re good looking, your intelligence rating is higher, and you’ve been screwed over by this stupid society just like I have!” snapped Starscream.

“But how have you been screwed over?” wondered Skywarp.

“We can talk about that later, right now: do you want to live or not? Because I do!” hissed Starscream. “We all need to trine and you should trine me because not only do I _not_ care that you are outliers, and I just saved your afts - albeit at the moment only temporarily - but I am extremely slagging fast, extremely slagging smart plus extremely slagging beautiful!”

“You think highly of yourself,” noted Thundercracker.

Starscream’s wings gave a profound jerk, _“Excuse me?!”_

Thundercracker took a step back from him as Skywarp gaped at him in shock, the blue seeker muttering, “I mean… usually mecha don’t describe themselves that way?”

Starscream crossed his arms (Skywarp kept possessive hold of his servo, apparently unwilling to give it up,) “Well, I’m a fragging prince and I know that I’m fabulous, so get over it, Thunderaft!”

“Star, I call him ‘TC,’” Skywarp saw fit to educate him in a whisper as Thundercracker rolled his optics.

“And what if we can’t catch you if you’re so fast?” demanded Thundercracker.

“You don’t have to catch me,” said Starscream. He held up his servo which Skywarp was in firm possession of. “See, caught? Skywarp did all of your dirty work, good job Skywarp.”

“I did a good job, TC,” snickered Skywarp gleefully, squeezing Starscream’s hand.

“Warp -” groaned Thundercracker. He shook himself, “Fine! _Fine!_ But you know that it’s wrong!”

“How is it_ wrong?_ I’ve seen trining flights, and personally I don’t feel like getting slammed into the pavement…” Starscream contemplated what he was standing on, “…or the mountainside. Anyway, I don’t think I can imagine anything less appealing.”

Thundercracker stared at him, then paced in a frustrated circle, “You’d understand if we had time to court, if we -”

“But we _don’t_ have time to court, and unless you’re hiding about ten trillion shanix in your subspace, you can’t afford my trining price,” pointed out Starscream.

“Ten tril- TC, _how many zeroes is that?”_ squeaked Skywarp as Thundercracker stumbled sideways into Skywarp, apparently needing his trinemate to physically support him.

“A lot more than either of you have,” hissed Starscream, adding in disgruntlement, “not to mention me.”

“You’re a prince and you don’t have shanix?” asked Skywarp.

“I have over ten thousand shanix in Iaconian currency,” huffed Starscream, proud of his hard-earned finances and refusing to allow insult to them.

“Why do you own Iaconian currency?” asked Thundercracker.

“Isn’t that worth like scrap now?” wondered Skywarp. “I overheard the guards say the Winglord closed all trade to Iacon!”

Starscream recoiled - all his money… _gone?!_ His upset spark and the flash of his own royal brand out of the corner of his eye reminded him that he had more critical things to worry about, as did the faint, but quickly growing sound of thrusters. He flicked his wings nervously, demanding, “Skywarp, can you take us to a specific place?”

“Yeah, if I’ve been there before, although if it is nearby I can kinda guess it, and I only have a certain range,” said Skywarp. “Teleportation uses up a lot of fuel.”

Starscream snatched a cube out of his subspace with his free hand and handed it to him, “Here.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Skywarp, relinquishing his grip on him to take it.

“Drink it fast, Skywarp,” growled Thundercracker, noticing what Starscream had, but without the horrifying context as he saw on his radar blips which were named. Winglord Mercury was in the lead, with both of his sires, Lord Daggerpoint, Lord Quartzash, General Slater, Sunfire, Strut and Blackstar, plus several trines of guards whom Starscream had known all of his life right behind them.

“How the frag did she find me when we teleported here?” growled Starscream.

“Who? Skywarp, hurry up!” demanded Thundercracker.

“I can only drink so much at a time, don’t rush me!” complained Skywarp. “This energon tastes slagging gross, Star, why -"

“My aunt,” hissed Starscream, elaborating, “the _Winglord.”_

Skywarp almost spat out his mouthful of awful carrier-formulated jet grade, Thundercracker reminding Skywarp, “He is a prince!”

Seeing specks resolving into shapes matching the blips on his radar, Starscream wrapped both of his arms around Skywarp’s left, Thundercracker seizing Skywarp’s other. Skywarp got his last mouthful of reproachful fuel down and Thundercracker cried,_ “Move,_ Warp!”

Fortunately, Skywarp translated this as a request for teleportation and Starscream’s processor whirled unpleasantly as he found himself standing in the middle of a thankfully deserted street. It took a terrifyingly long klik for his strained location data to realign, then, at last he had a direction, crying, “To the palace! Sixty hics that wa-”

Starscream suddenly stared at the contingent of urgently shouting royal guards which they were standing across from at the barren edge of the expanse between city and palace. They hadn’t been noticed yet, but it was only a matter of time, but this close to safety, he was determined to escape. All they needed was a groon, a joor hopefully - then it would be done, and his family would never be able to sell him away or trine him to Tanzing. He didn’t know Thundercracker and Skywarp either, but at least they were mechs of his own choosing, and at least he could stand looking at them. His spark already felt like it was desperately reaching for theirs, and he tightened his grip on Skywarp’s arm as he figured out how to phrase his directions.

“Skywarp: up three hics then forward due west onto the roof,” declared Starscream, and this time he was prepared for the sensation, the brief confusion of his HUD as well as the disorientating change in surface which he was standing upon. He looked around, confirming his location with his internal map, and decided, “Down; there is a corridor directly below us.” _Vop._ Warm, dry air abruptly surrounded them, and Starscream sneered at the empty guard station close by. “Forwards, twenty strides -” _vop_, Starscream readjusted, confirming again as his suitors gaped at the dark but elegant hallway in amazement, “forward, another thirty strides, then to our left, Thundercracker’s side another five.” He barely glimpsed the first warp jump, briefly seeing his carrier speaking worriedly to Goldtrace, then they were standing in the quiet, beloved sanctuary of his room.

“Star, where are we?” asked Skywarp as Starscream pulled himself free of him and ran to his door, digging a trusty energy knife out of his subspace which had accompanied him on all of his expeditions. He stabbed it into the controls for his door repeatedly and bared his denta in triumph when he saw the panel’s running lights flick off. “What are you doing?”

“Disabling my door,” smirked Starscream, “so that we don’t get interrupted.”

“Oooh,” said Skywarp, and seeing that Thundercracker had sat himself on the edge of his berth (_their_ berth?) Starscream suddenly felt impossibly awkward.

“You sure that you want this, Prince Starscream?” asked Thundercracker.

“None of us have a choice,” said Starscream.

“There’s always a choice, it just might be unpleasant,” grimaced Thundercracker, yet Starscream could see that the outlier’s resolve matched his.

Still, his wings and knees shook as he approached the berth, confessing, “I’ve… never borne my spark before. Never even seen it.”

“Do you have vows?” asked Thundercracker.

Starscream negated harshly with his wings, “I always wanted to avoid trining, before this… but I want to live.”

“Then we will live together, and fly forever as trine, through skies rough as well as calm, past the divide of death, eternal,” stated Thundercracker solemnly, reaching for his servo, which Starscream shakily gave, flinching as the outlier’s digits closed firmly around his own. Thundercracker’s smile was sad as he admitted, “Skywarp and I are no longer used to physical or social contact either, Prince Starscream.”

“Just Starscream to you,” whispered Starscream as Thundercracker guided him to sit beside him, their hips brushing.

“Lay down on your wings, the carrier-seeker has to be submissive,” directed Thundercracker and Starscream reluctantly laid down on his berth, his legs firmly crossed. He twitched in anxiety as Thundercracker climbed onto the berth after him on his knees, then took one of Starscream’s servos with one of his, using the other to brace himself. Thundercracker looked away, at Skywarp who was staring at them, and trilled, at which the uncertain looking mech teleported to his side, then took command of Starscream’s other servo. For a long klik they gazed at each other in unanimous fright, then Thundercracker shifted himself closer to Starscream, so close that Starscream could feel the warm puff of his vents against his quaking frame. The mech’s gaze was desperate with regret as he admitted softly, “I feel like some savage right now.”

“Doesn’t matter,” whispered Starscream as Skywarp belatedly copied Thundercracker, seeming just as lost as he was.

“I usually bottom in merges,” grumbled Skywarp in explanation to Starscream’s glance.

“Let’s get started,” sighed Thundercracker, steeling himself. He spread his wings, formally declaring, “I, Thundercracker of Vos, claim you, Prince Starscream of Vos as my trinemate to fly with forever through all weather. Death will not part us, and it is only with you that I create life.”

Ew. That latter bit would be changing; Starscream shivered anyway, and looked at Skywarp.

“I, Skywarp of Vos… claim you, Prince Starscream of Vos as my trinemate to fly forever with through all weather. Death will not part us, and it is only with you that I create life,” recited Skywarp, glancing at Thundercracker for approval, at which he nodded, both looking at Starscream expectantly.

Realizing that they were expecting him to make something up, he decided to follow their form, since it was probably what he was supposed to do and he couldn’t fragging remember what Cooldawn or Comet or Nightglow had said. “I, Prince Starscream of Vos… accept your claims on my spark -” _ugh,_ “- and I will fly with you forever through all weather. Death will not part us, and -” Starscream paused; he was pretty sure that the death thing hadn’t been part of the vows he had been taught, “- it is only with you that I create life.” He supposed this last was actually a vow of chastity; he decided to take it this way, instead of a promise to actually make seekerlings with them.

“Together we are whole,” whispered Thundercracker, seeming to approve, and suddenly his mouth was on Starscream’s, a reminder that trining nights didn’t stop at a spark merge, Starscream stiffening in surprise only to receive a kiss from Skywarp too as Thundercracker gave him space. Thundercracker hesitated, Starscream pondering what the slag was happening, then he saw unnerving movement in the sire-mech’s chest, the outlier’s plating and entire cockpit shifting aside, exposing a light which seemed as bright as a star in the dark room, shimmering brilliant azure blue. Purple light joined it, washing together with it, and Starscream shifted his stunned attention to Skywarp’s vivid violet. Their sparks were the most beautiful things which he had ever seen, and he felt his own surge wontedly, at which a peculiar sensation crawled across his chest, then - then there his was, as regally crimson as his plating. He stared at it in amazement, his own life force as it seemed to rise slightly from his frame, feeling the proximity of the other sparks as his suitors considered -

“GAH!” cried Starscream, and everything which was them swirled together and blended with everything that was _him_ until he felt like there was no difference anymore. Flashes of two lives which had never been his assailed his being, flickers of experiments on them, of Skywarp’s very brief sparklinghood which had been cut short by his discovery, of Thundercracker’s creators sobbing as he was led away, of him being let into a cell with a newly adult Skywarp. It was an arranged trining, unnatural, dictated to preserve their existences longer so that more research could be undertaken on their valuable spark gifts, but Thundercracker couldn’t help it. Skywarp was meek, funny, affectionate and adorable, the lonely young mech so delighted to meet him, to have a friend, plus Thundercracker had been lonely too, and now… now he found it poignant, almost somehow proper, that they had met Starscream in the same research facility too.

But he was damned glad to be taking Starscream’s spark on top of an actual berth - he’d taken Skywarp’s on the fragging cold hard floor (not that Skywarp had cared, Skywarp insisted.)

_ We will love you,_ whispered Thundercracker, sad at the undignified lack of courting, that he hadn’t really gotten to do it proper with either of them. Both deserved better - all of them did.

_ We can court now; life’ll be better, right?_ said Skywarp hopefully, and Starscream realized that he didn’t know - that he didn’t know whether he would be a pauper the next orn or not, banished for his crime of trining them…_ loving_ them.

Love. He questioned it because it was sudden, because he had only just met them a joor or two previous, but it was _there,_ and somehow it drove him to fiercely nuzzle against them, his new mates nuzzling back with kisses as the merge deepened. He pushed his memories of Iacon and interstellar space at them, then shivered in surprise as they instantly became aware of his cordoned grief. The memory of hanging helpless, cold and starving in an alien orbit hung between them, as painfully fresh as if he was still there.

_ Not alone anymore,_ promised Skywarp and Starscream heard a pained yelping trill, something clicking deep in his code, ecstasy bursting like an flash flame from his spark, then nothing.

* * *

He was warm, so cosily warm yet his frame felt hot, a burning sensation in his lower abdomen waking him up, and for a klik he was disorientated, because it felt like someone was hugging him. For a fraction he thought that it was Skyfire, that he had died or something and Skyfire was alive again, or like the orns of trauma had never happened. Starscream twitched and servos caressed his wings, servos which were not strange, _admiration/sympathy/love/happy/grateful_ resounding in his spark, which felt entirely different, as if it had transformed into something else far stronger. There was purring, soft and content, as well as shared scent which smelled like _home_ even greater than Comet once had. He had never been more comfortable and he gave up trying to comprehend it, too tired from the binding of his spark. 

Yet… despite that there was something he needed, the burning growing, and Starscream onlined his optics to gaze upon his keenly waiting trinemates. He sat up clumsily, his claws snagging slightly on the rich bedding, and they tensed, wings twitching, optics raking his form. Thundercracker made the first move, edging close, touching his hip as if to pin him, and Starscream remembered Cooldawn, Comet, _everyone_ telling him that it was in these moments after the first spark bonding that the trine’s leader was decided.

Starscream whirled fast and Skywarp leapt away with a squeak of surprise, Thundercracker rearing back just as bewildered as his energon flecked the berth. Starscream fanned his wings imperiously as Thundercracker looked at the long scratches Starscream had given him in disbelief. Skywarp came back, confused and ready to defend his original mate, approaching Starscream, and Starscream taught him what a mistake this was with a swat too. They gaped at him, venting hard as they attempted to figure him out, then Starscream made it clear, growling, “_I_ lead this trine, fraggers.”

“You do not,” hissed Thundercracker, wings arcing up. “I’m oldest, wisest and thus dominant -”

“Yeah? I’m smarter, and a prince,” snarled Starscream, flashing his claws, “I could even be Winglord some orn.”

Starscream bared his teeth, “That’s why _you_ are _never_ sparking me, because I’m too busy and Vos has more than enough darling little brats running around, especially in these corridors. I’m not letting a quirk of coding keep me from my desires - this society needs to evolve, and by Primus, I am going to make sure that it does, so there will be no seekerlings slowing me down! Besides - it’s illegal for you to spark me anyway.”

“Carrier-mecha don’t have the temperam-”

Starscream didn’t let Thundercracker finish his idiotic sentence; he ploughed into him full force, knocking him flat onto his back and straddled him, shrieking, “I LEAD THIS TRINE!”

The outlier stared at him, wondering, _Did someone frag up when they upgraded you?_

“That’s right, fragger,” growled Starscream, his wings shaking uncontrollably as he settled himself, clawed servos draped warningly across the outlier’s smooth abdomen. Starscream knew that his claws were capable of slashing through plating and derma -

_ You can’t hurt TC,_ implored Skywarp with a little whine. He cocked his helm, _You can be boss, I don’t mind, let’s just be at peace. _

“Doubt it,” said Thundercracker. “Carriers don’t become Winglords.”

Starscream frowned, then twitched as he felt the heat build steadily between his legs, looking down to realize that he was sitting on Thundercracker’s array, that Thundercracker was quickly becoming too aroused to care who led their trine. He shifted, trying to move his crotch away from Thundercracker’s, alarmed at how fast his frame was responding to Thundercracker’s, how fast they were responding to each _other’s_ and Thundercracker’s servos firmly clasped his hips, forbidding it. He met his new trinemate’s optics, and instantly read the sly suggestion which was just behind Thundercracker’s lips: _You’re going to ride my spike?_

“F-frag,” vented Starscream, his wings flicking in shock, because hadn’t they just met and -

Thundercracker sat up and with extremely disturbing ease, pinned him, smirking,_ Or maybe I just frag you._

Due to the fact that Skyfire had been fragging gigantic compared to Starscream, he had never been on the bottom before, and most of their interface had been oral. He stared at Thundercracker, taken aback by him, wondering how the slag he had pinned him so fast and why wasn’t he going after Skywarp instead -

_ Because we’re bonding with you,_ purred Thundercracker, nuzzling at his neck then kissing him. _You can be trineleader - for now - but since you’ve never been bottom -_

This was going terrifying, extremely exciting and intriguing places, especially as Skywarp eagerly nuzzled into them, neither of his trinemates seeming to give a damn that he had interfaced with Skyfire (who was dead, after all - besides, they owned Starscream’s interface array now,) when Starscream heard muffled, angry voices coming from the hallway outside. He twisted to get up and Thundercracker let him, his trinemates pressing close on either side of him, wings laid back in warning,_ fear/protect/trine_ rippling through their newborn bond. Starscream heard an energy saw, and he hissed as he saw its glowing blade emerge, cutting through his door’s locks, spitting sparks. There was a cry, then his door swung open, revealing the Winglord, the rest of his vengeful looking family clustered behind her, and Starscream squawked, “Get out! I’m busy!”

Winglord Mercury’s expression was pure outrage. “Starscream what have you -”

“These are _mine!”_ snarled Starscream, standing, his trine getting up with him and flanking him protectively. “I am trined now, so you can’t trine me to Tanzing, and if you don’t get out right now I am going to fragging teleport to a hotel room so that I can fragging frag in _peace!”_

Thundercracker and Skywarp looked at him, shocked that someone of his refined status could swear so much.

“Also, I’m going to do something important for this country, and if you don’t give me a job to do which suits my fragging degrees I am going to fragging move to Velocitron!” shrieked Starscream. On either side of him, neither of his trinemates felt particularly on board with this latter plan, but they would learn. “And you won’t be able to track me because Skywarp can fragging teleport!”

“Yeah I can!” chirped Skywarp supportively, Thundercracker wincing with_ Skywarp, don’t… _

Starscream crossed his arms and flicked his wings into an imperious cant, “They already know that they’re not allowed to spark me. I was born to be great and I _am_ great and I am going to serve Vos as planned!”

“Also Thundercracker can do a cool sound thing!” declared Skywarp proudly, making their quieter mate groan. “The researchers called it ‘tactical’ -”

“I’m very aware of what you both can do,” growled Winglord Mercury. She stalked further into the room, snarling, “Starscream, you little brat, do you not realize what you have done? The scandal you have incited, the -”

“Quick, the paparazzi need not know,” hissed Killjoy, suddenly stepping forwards to Starscream’s surprise. “We can mitigate the scandal; I did not approve of Tanzing as a match -”

“You are a _fool,_ Killjoy! What if this loses us his support?” snarled Winglord Mercury.

“Tanzing’s not that helpful, honestly,” said Lord Quartzash. “Besides, it’s not as if he’s that hard done by, he can trine Chinook instead. Same coding; same potential in the resulting creations -”

“Chinook is an entirely different calibre of seeker,” growled Killjoy, almost sounding insulted by the suggestion that Starscream’s sister might be anything like him.

“Who’s Chinook?” whispered Skywarp.

“My little sister,” scowled Starscream, enraged that Tanzing had had another, more willing option all this time and had _still_ waited for him.

“How many siblings do you have?” asked Skywarp.

“Way too fragging many,” snapped Starscream.

“And how do we explain where _they_ came from?!” demanded Winglord Mercury, pointing at Starscream’s trinemates. “The media has been expecting a trining flight!”

“Not happening,” Starscream informed her.

“Quicksilver, it’s very late, why don’t we speak of this disgrace in the morning? We will figure something out so that the outliers are not found out by the Functionists,” growled Lord Daggerpoint, but Starscream narrowed his eyes, realizing something.

“How hypocritical,” announced Starscream, every helm snapping his way as he stepped off of his berth, wings shaking in rage. “Winglord Mercury -” (behind him, Skywarp stiffened in surprise,) “- you and your government literally_ condemn_ outliers, _yet you are an outlier!_ You found me even after Skywarp teleported all over the place, and somehow you knew I was here, despite us entering without anyone knowing!”

Everyone went very quiet, then Killjoy spoke, “Starscream, you’re an outlier too.”

Behind him, his trinemates looked at each other in shock, Starscream sputtering, _“HOW THE FRAG-?!”_

“You believe that your speed is natural, Starscream?” demanded Killjoy. “It’s probably best that you chose to trine the way that you did, because Tanzing never would have caught you without heavy courtship and a trick.”

Starscream angrily decided that this is a distraction, and pointed at his glaring aunt, “But Winglord -”

_ “Aunt!”_ corrected Lord Quartzash.

“- Mercury _is_ an outlier!” snapped Starscream.

“Yes, Starscream, her sigma is finding mecha, and so is Courageflight’s,” said Lord Daggerpoint. “Yours and hers are subtle enough to hide - these outliers whom you have trined are not.

“What are you talking about? It’s not like they have ‘OUTLIER’ stamped across their wings in big letters!” snapped Starscream. “If they don’t _use_ their spark gifts then nobody will know!”

_ That’s easier said than done,_ grimaced Thundercracker forebodingly. Starscream ignored him. 

“Anyway, can we _please_ discuss this in the fragging morning?” snarled Starscream. “I know that you disapprove, but it is my_ trining_ night, and I would like to fragging carry on with it! You have found me and you know that I am safe, so go the frag away!”

His family finally grumpily left, Lords Daggerpoint and Quartzash practically dragging off the still-incensed Winglord. Some guards hastily replaced the door panel so that it would lock again and finally Starscream was alone with his trine again. Thundercracker’s arms slid promisingly around his waist, pulling him into his very warm lap and Starscream was about to encourage the outlier’s servo lower, when Skywarp belatedly wondered, “Who were those mecha?”

“Skywarp that was the Royal Family!” protested Thundercracker, apparently as outraged as Starscream was.

“Oh,” said Skywarp, thinking about this. He shrugged, then abruptly knocked them both over so that they lay in a tangle, Skywarp deciding as Thundercracker hastily pulled Starscream away from him (protecting his first dibs,) “I don’t think the silver one likes us.”

Starscream didn’t reply. Thundercracker was kissing him and grinding their arrays together, the mech’s insistent movements too wonderful to ignore. It was so different from what he had had before and something of the trinebond prevented him from thinking about the only other mech he had been intimate with. The trinebond swallowed him and despite only knowing just about a paragraph of data on each of his mates, they had become everything to him, the supporting bedrock of his existence. It was overwhelming yet relieving and Starscream whimpered as his frame united with Thundercracker’s, then Skywarp’s, marked with their transfluid. It was no quick thing like interface with Skyfire had been and they didn’t stop at a single overload.

Exhausted and sticky, they staggered into the wash rack, stood hazily under the shower, then returned to the berth, kicking off the blanket. On the berth they snuggled tightly into each other, legs entwined, chests flush, arms around waists, wings tangled, content sparks shifting in time, and Starscream was sleepily smug, knowing that he had done good for himself, that he had secured a better future for all of them.

He was unaware of just how much he would come to depend upon his trine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is; how Starscream found and trined Thundercracker and Skywarp. I was originally going to write a big scene for them consummating, but the narrative was against that, so it didn't happen. Young Starscream's story is not over yet however - there's still the Fall of Vos and how he met a certain gladiator.
> 
> I figure that Starscream's ancestors were full of slag when they told him that trineleaders were determined right in the first moments of trining. I think it'd actually take time for the trineleader to be distinguished in most trines, and admittedly in the (young Star's) current version of Vosian society it's usually a sire-coded individual (down with the patriarchy!) it wasn't always that way. I also think that trine leadership has the potential for fluctuation.
> 
> Starscream was very delusional when he thought that TC and Warp's sigmas could be hidden, haha. Skywarp's COULD be stealthy - in theory - but Skywarp's just not a stealthy guy. He likes pushing people down stairs too much, and scaring the crap out of them by teleporting into their personal space then immediately leaving. He'd make a great fake poltergeist. Thundercracker's, meanwhile, is just too linked to his emotions, and try as he might, he's just not a guru.


End file.
